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SEBASTIAN 


FRANK  DANBY 


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SEBASTIAN 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON  •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA   •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY   •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


SEBASTIAN 


BY 

FRANK   DANBY 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD,"  "PIGS 
IN  CLOVER,"  ETC. 


"For  love  than  wisdom  is  more  deeply  wise." 


Nefo  If  orfe 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1909 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYBIGHT,   1909, 

BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  April,  1909.      Reprinted 
April,  1909. 


NottaooB 

J.  8.  Cashing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


SEBASTIAN 


SEBASTIAN 


CHAPTER  I 

DAVID  slept  badly.  For  this,  the  winter  cough,  that 
had  irritated  his  wife's  sensitiveness  even  in  the  first 
year  of  their  marriage,  was  probably  responsible.  Va- 
nessa always  asserted  that  he  was  asthmatic,  and  certainly 
he  was  short  of  breath.  Although  he  was  habitually  an 
insomniac,  to-night  he  had  woken  with  a  start,  suddenly, 
as  if  from  some  external  cause.  He  lay  still  for  a  few 
moments,  his  heart  beating  quickly,  his  pulses  throbbing. 
What  had  startled  him,  how  had  he  been  roused  ? 

He  opened  his  eyes.  Darkness  was  in  the  room,  and 
quiet.  He  occupied  the  back  room  on  the  second  floor; 
the  blinds  were  drawn,  the  outlook  was  on  to  the  mews. 
Perhaps  Dr.  Gifford's  brougham,  unusually  late,  had 
driven  its  noisy  way  over  the  cobbled  stones.  But  in 
that  case  he  would  hear  the  clink  of  harness,  the  rattle  of 
unsteady  hoofs,  voices  in  the  yard.  He  listened,  but 
outside  all  was  still.  The  big  Harley  Street  house  had 
been  built  in  the  Georgian  era,  the  walls  were  thick,  and 
it  was  silence  they  seemed  to  hold.  Black  night  alone 
filled  the  room,  and  stillness.  He  shrank  a  little  from 
both,  lying  there,  hearing  his  own  heart-beats,  hearing 
nothing  else,  at  first. 


2  SEBASTIAN 

Was  it  Vanessa,  coming  up  to  bed,  slamming  her  door, 
thoughtlessly,  who  had  awakened  him?  Vanessa  was 
writing  late.  Her  new  book  was  nearly  finished;  she 
had  been  dead  to  him,  and  the  household,  to  Stella,  al- 
most to  Sebastian,  in  the  last  few  absorbed  weeks.  Her 
work  held  her,  and  he  respected  her  for  it.  If  a  man, 
nothing  much  to  recommend  him,  just  a  plain  business 
man,  was  married  to  a  girl  of  genius,  to  the  daughter  of 
John  Hepplewight-Ventom,  if  he,  already  middle-aged, 
had  taken  her  from  the  schoolroom,  almost  from  the 
nursery,  how  could  he  expect  her  ear,  her  attention,  her 
heart? 

Vanessa  was  always  David's  first  thought  when  he 
woke;  she  was  in  his  mind  by  night  and  day.  The  book 
upon  which  she  was  now  engaged,  was  the  third  since 
her  marriage,  the  third  in  nine  years.  He  wished  it  were 
finished.  She  was  so  remote  from  them  all,  even  Se- 
bastian .  .  .  even  from  Sebastian ! 

David  jumped  out  of  bed,  forgot  cold,  himself,  Va- 
nessa, everything.  It  was  Sebastian  he  had  heard,  of 
course.  He  could  hardly  wait  to  thrust  his  feet  into 
slippers,  hardly  wait  to  find  his  overcoat ;  dressing-gown 
he  had  none.  He  sent  his  voice  before  him,  as  he 
stumbled  down  the  stairs: 

"I  am  coming,  Pupsy  is  coming!"  Cold  sweat  was 
on  his  forehead  and  his  hands  were  clammy.  It  was 
sobbing  he  had  heard,  sobbing  in  the  night !  The  boy 
was  awake,  was  crying.  .  .  .  "Pupsy  is  coming!"  he 
called  out,  "Pupsy  is  coming!" 

The  boy  slept  in  the  room  leading  out  of  his  mother's, 
just  under  David's.  Vanessa's  door  was  open,  but 


SEBASTIAN  3 

there  was  no  light  in  it.  She  had  not  yet  emerged  from 
her  study. 

David  found  the  knob  of  the  electric  light,  and  turned 
it  up. 

"I'm  here,  little  man,  I'm  here!" 

And  Sebastian,  who  had  been  crying  in  his  sleep, 
whose  bright  eyes  were  heavy  with  sleep  and  tears,  smiled 
at  his  anxious  father.  The  smile  showed  a  gap,  for  he 
had  just  shed  his  milk  teeth ;  but  it  was  full  of  confidence. 
It  was  a  plain  little  face  the  electric  light  discovered  on 
the  tumbled  pillow,  thin,  and  rather  sallow,  under  the 
straight  black  hair,  but  it  was  very  intelligent. 

"I  fought  you  or  Mumsy  would  come,"  he  said. 
"I've  been  crying!"  He  looked  up  under  the  obvious 
expectation  of  creating  a  sensation.  Sebastian  never 
cried,  was  not  allowed  to  cry !  The  awkward,  middle- 
aged  father,  the  mother,  too  young  and  self-absorbed, 
had  been  agreed  on  this  one  point  only.  Sebastian  was 
wonderful,  unique,  he  must  not  be  brought  up  like  an 
ordinary  child,  he  must  be  allowed  to  develop.  No  one 
must  contradict,  nor  govern  him,  they  must  only  stand 
aside,  intelligently,  and  watch  his  growth.  Then  why 
should  Sebastian  cry? 

"Don't  you  feel  well?"  David  asked.  "Have  you 
got  a  pain?" 

"Why  have  you  got  a  greatcoat  on?"  the  little  boy 
demanded. 

"I  heard  you  crying;  I  did  not  stop  to  dress,  I  came 
as  quickly  as  I  could."  David  was  almost  apologetic. 

"You  do  look  funny  in  your  legs,"  Sebastian  went  on. 

David  looked  down.    He  had  not  been  converted  to 


4  SEBASTIAN 

pyjamas,  and  certainly  the  slippers  and  the  bare  legs, 
the  nightshirt  and  coat  were  sufficiently  incongruous. 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  what  is  the  matter." 

Sebastian  was  glad  of  company,  there  was  no  doubt 
about  that.  He  did  not  want  to  talk  of  what  had  waked 
him,  what  had  fretted  him;  he  wanted  to  talk  of  any- 
thing else,  to  hear  why  Pupsy  did  not  wear  night-clothes 
like  his,  why  he  had  not  got  on  a  dressing-gown,  why  he 
had  not  combed  his  hair,  if  that  was  a  corn  on  his  foot  ? 
He  was  filled  with  curiosity  on  every  conceivable  topic, 
dumb  as  to  what  had  made  him  cry.  David  had  no  gift 
of  obtaining  confidence. 

Sebastian  would  not  let  him  go ;  it  was  obvious  he  did 
not  want  to  be  alone  in  the  dark.  He  made  his  father 
lift  him  out  of  bed  presently,  take  him  on  his  knee,  tell 
him  stories. 

This  was  the  way  Vanessa  found  them  when  she  came 
upstairs,  hand  tired,  and  brain  weary,  having  written 
herself  out. 

She  was  startled  at  seeing  a  light  in  the  boy's  room; 
she  saw  it  under  the  chink  in  the  door,  and  it  quickened 
her  step.  She  turned  the  handle  quite  as  anxiously  as 
David  had  done ;  the  boy  was  as  much  hers  as  his  — 
more,  she  thought.  It  gave  her  a  quick,  unrecognised 
pain  to  see  her  husband  sitting  by  the  bedside,  holding 
her  boy  in  his  arms.  Sebastian  was  growing  sleepy 
again ;  his  trouble  had  been  soothed,  his  head  was  on  his 
father's  shoulder,  and  David  was  nursing  him  tenderly. 

But  the  quick,  unrecognised  pain  in  Vanessa's  heart, 
the  jealousy  that  stung  her,  made  her  reckless  of  his 
drowsiness. 


SEBASTIAN  5 

"You  might  have  seen  the  quilt  was  properly  round 
him,"  she  said,  sharply.  "What  is  the  matter?  Why 
did  you  not  call  me?" 

And  she  knew  she  was  unjust  even  while  she  spoke. 
For  had  she  not  insisted  she  must  be  undisturbed  when 
writing?  And  David  had  taken  the  eiderdown  from 
the  bed  and  enwrapped  the  boy.  One  little  foot  hung 
down  uncovered,  but  the  boy  was  warm  against  his 
father's  breast.  He  opened  drowsy  eyes  at  his  mother's 
entry : 

"I  cwied  in  my  sleep,"  he  said;  "it  was  your  fault. 
You  said  it  was  England,  and  about  'all  the  swallows.' 
And  they  was  only  sparrows,  and  houses;  there  was 
no  blossoms,  nor  dewdrops,  nor  nothing."  He  was  half 
asleep  again. 

"What  is  he  talking  about?"  said  David.  "Hush! 
hush !"  He  soothed,  and  rocked  him,  to  and  fro,  as  if 
he  had  been  still  a  baby. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Vanessa  that  she  did  not  offer  to 
take  him,  although  she  stooped  and  adjusted  the  quilt, 
covering  the  little  foot  carefully.  Her  heart-beats  were 
accelerated  at  the  child's  words,  and  her  eyes  triumphant. 
How  wonderful  he  was !  How  quickly  she  understood 
him !  His  father  was  quite  outside  his  mind. 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  well ;  he  feels  a  little  feverish. 
Don't  you  think  I'd  better  put  my  things  on,  and  go  for 
Gifford?"  David  asked  anxiously,  although  already 
the  boy's  eyes  were  closed  again,  and  his  breathing  was 
soft  and  regular. 

What  was  the  good  of  trying  to  make  David  under- 
stand? Her  own  heart  beat  high  with  pride,  partly 


6  SEBASTIAN 

in  the  boy,  partly  in  her  own  quick  comprehension  of 
him. 

She  stood  in  the  room,  nothing  obviously  literary 
about  her,  and  still  less  of  the  maternal;  a  slim  and 
graceful  figure,  gowned  for  the  ballroom,  and  not  for  the 
study.  Vanessa  always  said  she  wrote  best  in  evening 
dress.  She  had  been  absorbed  in  her  pen  puppets  for 
hours,  these  two  belongings  of  hers,  husband  and  son, 
more  shadowy  and  unreal  than  the  figures  she  created. 
But  when  she  dreamed,  in  days  when  her  pen  lay  idle, 
Sebastian  was  ever  the  centre  of  her  dreaming:  it  was 
only  in  her  working  hours  that  she  escaped  him.  Now 
she  said,  with  that  light  in  her  eyes: 

"He  is  quite  right,  it  is  my  fault.  This  afternoon  I 
found  him,  curled  up  in  the  window-seat  in  the  dining- 
room,  gazing  out  of  the  window,  with  a  book  in  his  hand. 
He  asked  me,  'Is  this  England,  Mumsy?'  I  did  not 
pause  to  think  what  his  query  might  mean ;  I  am  on  my 
last  chapter,  and  it  is  difficult  to  find  the  tag.  I  was 
absorbed  in  my  closing  scene,  careless  of  anything  else. 
I  answered  quickly,  'Yes,  of  course  this  is  England.  I 
thought  you  knew  London  was  the  capital  of  England, 
the  centre  of  the  world.'  It  comes  back  to  me  now  that 
he  seemed  distressed,  puzzled,  unsatisfied." 

"I  don't  understand  .  .  ." 

"Of  course  not." 

He  winced  at  that.    She  had  not  meant  to  hurt  him. 

"I  mean,  it  is  difficult;  he  is  so  wonderful,  so  unusual. 
I  went  into  the  dining-room  just  now.  I  picked  up 
this  book  —  look!"  She  held  it  out  to  David,  open. 
But  he  would  not  take  it,  nor  move,  for  fear  of  rousing 
the  boy. 


SEBASTIAN  7 

"Oh!  to  be  in  England 
Now  that  April's  there! 
And  whoever  wakes  in  England 
Sees  some  morning  unaware 
That  the  lowest  boughs  and  the  brushwood  sheaf  .  .  ." 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  her  voice  had  grown  low,  al- 
most unsteady. 

"He  had  been  reading  it  to  himself.  It  comes  back 
to  me  now  that  his  eyes  were  wet.  And  I  failed  him ! 
I  did  not  follow  the  working  of  his  mind,  the  disappoint- 
ment of  his  eyes,  gazing  on  the  grey  street  ..." 

"And  after  April,  when  May  follows 
And  the  whitethrush  builds,  and  all  the  swallows  ..." 

"He  must  have  felt  it  ail  so  intensely,  so  exquisitely, 
and  I,  I  ought  to  have  known.  ...  I  am  not  fit  to 
mother  him." 

She  looked  down  on  the  little  fellow,  fast  asleep  now 
in  his  father's  arms. 

"If  only  my  father  had  been  alive!" 

It  broke  from  her  involuntarily,  it  was  heartfelt. 

"It  is  so  rare  and  fine  a  mind !  My  father,  too,  never 
read  that  poem  without  emotion.  I  put  it  in  Sebastian's 
hands  on  purpose  to  test  him,  and  then  forgot  all  about 
it,  fool  that  I  am!" 

"I  don't  think  his  brain  ought  to  be  excited." 

"Try  a  thousand  other  children  with  it,"  she  ex- 
claimed, triumphantly. 

David  only  sighed,  he  did  not  argue.    It  ached  in  him 


8  SEBASTIAN 

that  she  still  missed  her  father,  longed  for  his  sympathy. 
David,  too,  knew  Sebastian  was  different  from  all  other 
children.  He  had  once  read  "Little  Red  Riding  Hood" 
to  him,  and  this  when  he  was  in  his  fifth  year.  And  it 
was  an  experience  he  had  never  forgotten,  for  Sebastian 
almost  had  convulsions  over  the  end,  and  had  cried  him- 
self sick,  although  all  the  household,  mother,  father  and 
doctor,  had  assured  him  of  Red  Riding  Hood's  final 
safety.  David  had  never  hurt  Sebastian's  sensitiveness 
again,  and  he  never  would.  Vanessa  was  wrong  in 
thinking  he  failed  to  recognise  it. 

David  was  moved,  nevertheless,  after  this  incident, 
to  consult  Dr.  Gifford  as  to  the  best  course  to  pursue 
with  regard  to  Sebastian's  education.  The  boy  slept 
well  the  remainder  of  the  night,  and  had  apparently 
forgotten  all  about  his  disappointment  in  the  morning. 
Vanessa  would  have  liked  to  recall  it  to  him,  and  to  dis- 
cuss the  source  of  his  rare  tears.  But  she,  too,  was  not 
sure  of  the  right  course.  She  asked  the  boy,  casually, 
if  he  were  going  to  read  the  same  book  to-day  as  he 
read  yesterday,  and  he  replied,  quite  indifferently,  that 
he  wasn't  going  to  read  to-day,  he  was  going  to  play 
horses.  She  purposely  left  the  book  in  his  way,  but  he 
did  not  take  it  up.  Whilst  she  was  making  her  experi- 
ments, David  got  Dr.  Gifford  to  give  an  opinion. 

"Send  him  to  boarding  school,  let  him  mix  with  other 
boys."  Dr.  Gifford  was  quite  decisive.  "I  quite  admit 
that  he  is  not  an  ordinary  boy.  How  should  he  be, 
with  such  parentage?"  This  was  a  sop  to  Vanessa,  for 
Dr.  Gifford  was  genuinely  interested,  and  wanted  to 
carry  his  point.  "But  the  nearer  you  approximate  him 


SEBASTIAN  9 

to  the  normal,  the  better  chance  you  give  him  of  health 
and  happiness.  He  is  not  yet  nine  years  old.  You 
give  him  Browning  to  read,  and  Madam,  here,  is  revelling 
in  the  fact  that  he  cries  at  night  because  he  can't  see 
the  'blossomed  pear  tree/  in  Harley  Street !  He  ought 
to  be  playing  cricket,  hockey,  football,  shirking  his  les- 
sons, and  barking  his  shins.  That's  the  way  to  make  a 
man  of  him." 

"I  do  not  want  him  to  be  like  other  boys,"  Vanessa 
objected. 

"You  need  not  fear  that,"  the  doctor  answered,  drily. 
She  was  always  a  little  outside  his  sympathies.  He  was 
by  no  means  a  narrow-minded  man,  but  Vanessa's 
seriousness  over  her  books,  her  father's  reputation,  and 
literature  generally,  seemed  to  him  exotic,  perhaps  a 
trifle  ridiculous.  She  had  a  husband,  a  home  and  a 
baby  —  what  more  did  a  young  woman  need  ?  He  did 
not  realise  that  she  had  needed  none  of  these  things  at 
eighteen  years  of  age,  and  had  not  been  trained  for  them. 
They  were  accidental  to  her,  external,  and  she  had  not 
yet  grown  used  to  them.  Her  slow  development  was 
on  other  lines,  and  no  maturity  of  womanhood,  know- 
ledge, or  suffering  was  yet  hers. 

Sebastian  was  sent  to  boarding  school  in  his  ninth 
year,  where,  in  a  phenomenally  short  time,  he  rose  to  be 
head  of  his  class,  and  presently,  of  every  class. 

His  individuality  survived  the  ordeal.  Like  his 
mother,  he  took  little  colour  from  his  surroundings. 
What  happiness  he  achieved  was  intrinsic,  and  it  did  not 
include  the  popularity  that  accrued  to  athletic  boys  with 
meaner  brain  power.  But  that  he  did  not  enjoy  his  life 


10  SEBASTIAN 

at  the  preparatory  school  can  be  read  in  his  letters  to 
David,  which  were  carefully  preserved,  and  of  which 
the  following  is  a  fair  sample.  It  was  written  in  his 
eleventh  year.  David  had  typhoid  fever,  and  the  boy 
received  fewer  visits  from  his  parents  in  consequence. 

ST.  MICHAEL'S,  November  25th. 

"DEAR  PUPSY,  —  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  are 
steadily  improving.  I  am  getting  on  all  right  and  am 
well  and  jolly.  How  is  Mumsy,  Aunt  Stella  and  Bice? 
Thank  Mumsy  for  her  letter  which  I  received  this  morn- 
ing. I  am  so  lonely  that  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do 
without  yours  and  Mumsy's  letters,  but  I  know  that  it 
would  do  you  harm  to  come  down,  and  I  don't  want 
Mumsy  to  leave  you  all  alone,  so  I  will  wait  patiently  for 
the  end  of  the  term  to  come,  which  is  exactly  three  weeks 
on  Wednesday,  and  trials  begin  Saturday  week. 

P.T.O. 

"I  was  two  from  top  this  week,  but  I  am  determined 
to  do  better  this  time,  and  as  I  have  begun  well,  I  am  in 
great  hopes. 

"We  played  Becenham  the  2nd  best  preparatory 
school  this  week  and  were  only  beaten  3 — 1. 

"In  a  second  XI  match  v.  South  Eastern  Junior  we 
beat  1—0. 

"In  a  third  XI  v.  Campbells  we  beat  5 — 2. 

"Good-bye. 

"Your  loving  son,    SEBASTIAN. 

"P.S.  —  Don't  let  Mumsy  leave  you  to  come  and 
see  me." 


SEBASTIAN  11 

In  his  thirteenth  year  Sebastian  went  to  Eton.  The 
position  of  affairs  between  his  parents  had  not  improved, 
but  of  this,  naturally,  he  knew  nothing.  Vanessa's 
reputation  as  a  novelist  had  by  this  time  become 
established,  but  as  hers  was  never  a  popular  success, 
as  she  never  rivalled  Marie  Corelli,  nor  Hall  Caine,  and 
was  as  yet  unknown  on  the  sixpenny  bookstalls,  the  boy 
gained  no  kudos  among  his  companions  for  being  her  son. 


CHAPTER  II 

"GAME  and  set,  and  match  to  me,"  said  Sebastian 
scoffingly,  pitching  his  racquet  on  to  the  springless 
sofa.  "  I  told  you  I  could  give  you  forty.  You  haven't 
a  chance  at  the  odds,  you  haven't  got  the  temper  for  the 
game.  Look  at  you  now ! " 

She  had  flung  all  her  ill-directed  energies  into  the 
last  stroke,  and  the  little  volatile  ball  had  gone  half 
a  yard  beyond  the  table,  leaped  into  the  fireplace, 
jumped,  and  finally  disappeared  under  the  bookcase. 

The  girl's  face  was  scarlet  with  rage,  her  black 
eyes  flashed,  she  stamped  her  feet  at  him. 

"  You  needn't  stand  there,  jeering  and  grinning ! 
Don't  grin,  I  say,  don't !  don't ! " 

"All  right,  all  right!  Abuse  me  because  you  can't 
play  ping-pong." 

"  Can't  play  ?    I  can  play !    You  know  you  cheated ! " 

"  What  a  silly  lie !  '  Just  like  a  girl ! " 

She  burst  into  sudden  tears. 

"Anyway,  you  are  a  rude,  a  rude,  beastly  boy,  and 
I  hate  the  sight  of  you ! " 

"Very  well,  then  I'll  go.  Mind,  I  shan't  get  round  the 
corner  before  you  are  running,  full  speed,  after  me, 
begging  me  to  come  back." 

"  I  shan't !  You  know  I  shan't.  I  never  want 
to  see  you  again.  You're  a  prig,  and  I  hate  you ! " 

12 


SEBASTIAN  13 

"  Not  you,  no  such  luck !    You  can't  live  without  me." 
She  dried  her  eyes,  on  a  handkerchief  that  had  seen 
better  days,  and  sniffed  defiance  at  him. 
"Well,  you  are  glad  enough  to  come  here,  anyhow." 
"You  don't  suppose  I  come  to  see  you,  do  you?" 
"  You  come  to  see  Pleasey,  but  she  wouldn't  even  stop 
at  home  to  meet  you  this   afternoon!    She   knew  you 
were  coming  —  I  told  her  myself ;   so  there !    And  she 
says  you  are  a  prig,  too.    Everybody  says  you  are ! " 

He  coloured  at  that.  There  was  no  doubt  it  was 
Pleasey  Plcyden-Carr  he  came  to  see,  and  not  his  fifteen- 
year-old  cousin.  Beatrice  Ashton  was  too  impulsive, 
passionate,  untutored  and  crude,  to  suit  the  taste  of  an 
Eton  boy,  already  in  the  first  hundred,  and  displaying 
fancy  waistcoats.  He  played  ping-pong  with  Beatrice 
because  he  had  nothing  better  to  do.  But  the  dull  back 
schoolroom  in  Weymouth  Street  showed  itself  to  him 
in  all  its  unrelieved  and  monotonous  ugliness  when  there 
was  only  Bice  to  set  off  its  bareness  with  her  ill-temper. 

Sebastian  sometimes  wondered  vaguely  at  the  dif- 
ference of  Aunt  Stella's  own  surroundings,  and  those  with 
which  she  was  satisfied  for  her  only  daughter.  For  the 
drawing-room  was  hung  with  water-colours  and  silken 
draperies,  luxurious  with  lounges,  easy  chairs  and 
femininess.  The  schoolroom  was  half  of  the  dining-room, 
shut  off  from  it  by  folding  doors.  On  the  other  side  was 
the  inlaid,  and  beautiful,  Sheraton  sideboard;  here  was 
only  the  rickety  sofa,  banished  from  some  more  luxurious 
place.  The  carpet  was  shabby,  the  deal  table,  with 
painted  mahogany  legs,  might  have  been  translated  from 
the  kitchen;  the  window,  of  coloured  glass,  looked  on  to 


14  SEBASTIAN 

the  yard.  There  were  shelves  with  broken-backed  books, 
a  small  piano  in  walnut  case,  a  litter  of  music  on  the  floor, 
an  ink-stained  oak  writing-table  with  untidy  papers. 

But  Aunt  Stella  was  altogether  too  contradictory, 
puzzling,  and  complicated  for  Sebastian  to  understand. 
He  accepted  her,  as  other  people  did,  without  explana- 
tion, on  her  merits,  her  idle  good  humour,  and  plea  of 
indifferent  health. 

The  ping-pong  had  been  a  failure  this  afternoon. 
Beatrice  hated  being  beaten,  and  Sebastian  beat  her 
so  easily.  He  gave  her  thirty,  and  owed  thirty,  and  still 
beat  her.  At  Queen's  College,  in  the  various  examina- 
tions there,  and  at  Burlington  House,  Beatrice  Ashton 
excelled  her  schoolfellows,  was  conscious  of  her  abilities, 
and  had  the  reward  of  them.  But  the  aggravation  of 
her  life,  its  excitement  and  poignancy,  was  her  cousin 
Sebastian's  calm  superiority. 

"You  came  to  see  Pleasey,"  Beatrice  went  on,  for  she 
had  noted  the  sudden  flush  on  the  boy's  pale  face,  and 
was  glad,  in  her  rage  at  his  ping-pong  victory  over  her,  to 
know  she  could  touch  him.  She  jeered: 

"  You  are  in  love  with  Pleasey !  In  love,  stupid ! 
She  isn't  in  love  with  you,  she  likes  me  ever  so  much 
better.  I  asked  her,  and  she  promised  me  she  did.  She 
is  only  nice  to  you  because  you  are  my  cousin.  And  she 
likes  Aunt  Vanessa's  books.  She  says  you  are  only  a 
boy." 

Excepting  for  that  IHtle  flush,  it  was  impossible 
to  see  that  Sebastian  had  been  moved  at  all  by  her 
words.  He  prided  himself  on  his  self-control. 

Beatrice's  dark  eyes  had  had  no  difficulty  in  detecting 


SEBASTIAN  15 

glances  between  her  cherished  boy  cousin  and  her  new 
companion-governess.  She  knew  Sebastian  and  Miss 
Pleyden-Carr  had  become  friends  in  the  Easter  holidays. 
Bice  had  been  cruelly  jealous  and  unhappy  about  it. 
Her  nature  was  generous,  her  temper  passionate,  her  love 
for  her  cousin,  although  it  was,  as  yet,  but  a  child's  love, 
was  overwhelming.  And  it  brought  her  little  but  suffer- 
ing. Sebastian,  sensitive  himself,  could  play  on  her 
sensitiveness  as  if  it  were  a  violin,  and  she  vibrated 
to  every  touch  his  humour  devised. 

Beatrice  had  manoeuvred  to  give  Pleasey  her  holiday 
this  afternoon.  She  had  determined  on  monopolising 
Sebastian's  mid-half  leave.  His  look  of  disappointment 
round  the  empty  schoolroom  had  enraged  her;  and  she  had 
tried  to  enrage  him.  In  the  game,  too,  she  had  played 
badly,  had  not  done  herself  justice,  hitting  the  balls 
wildly,  and  losing  the  two  sets. 

Now,  when  they  had  finished  their  game,  and  he 
stood  with  his  back  to  the  empty  fireplace,  she 
could  not  help  trying  to  break  through  his  self-possession. 

"She  thinks  you  are  only  a  boy.  I  told  her  you 
were  sixteen,  though  you  said  you  were  seventeen." 

He  retained  his  self-possession. 

"  I  am  seventeen ;  I  am  eighteen  months  older  than 
you  are,  and  eighteen  years  wiser.  You  are  not  a  human 
being  at  all ;  you  are  an  irresponsible  person  —  rather 
mad.  I  should  never  be  surprised  to  see  you  come  to  a 
bad  end.  '  Great  wits  to  madness  often  are  allied.'  Mine 
are  the  great  wits,  yours " 

"Well,  I  am  not  mad  enough  to  fall  in  love,  in  love." 
It  is  impossible  to  exaggerate  her  scorn  at  such  a  state  of 
affairs.  "She  says  you  are  ugly  too.  There!" 


16  SEBASTIAN 

"Oh,  of  course,  she  confides  entirely  in  you ! " 

"I  don't  care  whether  she  confides  in  me,  I  didn't 
say  she  confided  in  me."  She  stamped  her  foot  at  him. 
"  I  know  what  she  thinks,  I  see  all  her  letters,  she  tells  me 
everything." 

"Then  you  should  have  the  tact  and  discretion  to 
keep  it  to  yourself." 

"Prig!" 

"But  there,  I  am  tired  of  trying  to  teach  you  to 
behave  yourself.  Perhaps  I  shall  find  you  improved 
by  the  midsummer."  He  took  his  carefully  brushed 
high  hat  from  the  mantelpiece. 

Bice  made  a  rush  at  him  —  at  the  hat. 

"  You  shan't  go !    You  shan't !  " 

He  held  it  up,  out  of  her  reach :  he  was  nearly  a  foot 
taller  than  she,  and  this  was  another  grievance. 

"I  am  going." 

She  got  between  him  and  the  door,  and  put  her  back 
against  it.  He  placed  his  hat  on  his  head,  he  was  very 
deliberate  in  his  ways.  Then  he  took  her,  not  roughly, 
but  firmly,  by  the  two  elbows,  and  with  a  dexterous 
movement  jerked  her  away  from  the  door,  was  outside, 
and  had  turned  the  key. 

She  flung  herself  against  the  door,  and  burst  into  a 
sudden  cry,  she  shrieked  and  stamped,  and  shook  the 
handle. 

"  I  hate  you !  I  hate  you !  Come  back,  Sebastian ! 
You  are  to  come  back;  you  are  to;  you  are  to ! " 

But  she  heard  his  retreating  footsteps,  and  threw 
herself  on  the  floor,  beating  it  with  her  head  and  feet, 
being  altogether  childish,  hysterical  and  absurd  as  she 


SEBASTIAN  17 

lay  alone  in  that  dull,  empty  schoolroom.  She  was 
fifteen  years  old,  freakishly  small,  with  elf  locks,  gipsy 
complexion,  strangely  unlike  her  delicate,  fair  mother, 
a  throw-back  to  some  early  type  of  Ventom,  when  the 
woods  sufficed  them. 

Sebastian's  mother  and  Beatrice's  mother  were 
twin  sisters.  Fate  had  played  them  many  strange 
and  untoward  tricks,  but  it  had  given  them  each  other 
as  compensation.  They  had  never  been  separated.  As 
children  they  had  slept  in  each  other's  arms,  whispered 
their  baby  confidences,  chattered  their  b.aby  talk.  They 
had  shared  each  other's  rooms  as  grown  girls,  and  still 
the  confidences  and  intimate  talk  had  gone  on,  the  in- 
evitable moment  of  reserve  delayed,  until  Stella  met 
Jack  Ashton. 

The  complete  confidence  between  the  two  sisters 
ended  on  their  wedding  day.  For  Jack  Ashton  was  a 
rake,  David  Kendall  a  saint,  and  neither  sister  well 
mated.  They  learned  their  silences,  although  no  distance 
separated  them. 

Within  a  few  doors  of  one  lived  always  the  other, 
and  their  children,  each  a  solitary  and  unique  bud  on  the 
parent  stalk,  seemed  to  them  born  only  to  carry  on  the 
tradition  of  their  complete  intimacy. 

Sebastian  would  not  leave  the  house,  after  his  quarrel 
with  Beatrice,  without  a  farewell  to  his  aunt.  He  went 
upstairs  to  the  pretty  drawing-room,  and  found  Stella 
sitting,  as  usual,  surrounded  by  flowers;  Mare'chal  Niel 
roses,  although  it  was  April,  lilies  of  the  valley,  tall  palms, 
and  broad  dishes  of  Neapolitan  violets.  He  found  her 


18  SEBASTIAN 

in  a  charming  tea-gown,  and  still  more  charming  mood, 
pouring  out  tea  for  his  mother. 

"Is  that  you,  Sebastian?  Come  in.  How  is  Eton? 
Well,  what  have  you  done  wonderful  this  term?  Are 
you  Captain  of  the  Boats?  And  have  you  beaten  Dr. 
Warre  in  Greek  verse?  Here  is  your  mother,  dying  to 
know  what  new  worlds  you  have  conquered." 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  relations  between  Vanessa 
Rendall  and  her  son,  that  although  it  was  a  month  since 
they  had  met,  they  only  greeted  each  other  with  a  nod. 
Also,  that,  although  she  knew  that  he  was  coming  this 
afternoon,  she  had  not  waited  at  home  to  receive  him. 
She  always  had  tea  with  Stella  on  Saturday  afternoons ! 
Both  sisters  lived  in  an  unuttered,  perpetual,  fear  lest 
they  should  hurt  each  other  by  displaying  an  affection 
for  their  children.  Vanessa  would  not  give  up  coming 
to  tea  with  Stella,  although  this  was  Sebastian's  long 
leave,  and  the  clever  stripling  held  all  of  her  heart  that 
was  as  yet  developed. 

"  Where  is  my  Bice  ?  What  have  you  done  with  my 
little  Bice?  "  asked  Stella.  "Have  some  tea?  " 

"I  thought  I  should  find  you  here,  mater." 

They  had  only  nodded  to  each  other,  but  there  was 
intimacy  and  understanding  in  that  nod. 

"Yes,  I  will  have  some  tea,  Aunt  Stella.  Eton? 
Well,  Eton's  just  as  it  always  was,  a  beastly,  unhealthy 
hole,  inhabited  by  aborigines.  It  is  a  bear  garden,  I 
shall  be  very  glad  when  my  time  is  up." 

"Have  you  made  up  your  mind  about  the  Harvey?  " 
asked  his  mother.  It  was  the  first  word  she  had  ad- 
dressed to  him.  There  was  an  eager  interest  in  her  speech. 


SEBASTIAN  19 

"It's  such  a  sap,"  he  answered,  carelessly.  Then 
he  smiled  at  her.  His  mouth  was  flexible,  with  sensitive 
lips,  and  though  his  smile  was  what  an  unprejudiced 
witness  might  call  a  grin,  it  answered  her  question,  and 
satisfied  her.  He  belittled  the  Harvey  prize  for  English 
verse,  but  he  meant  trying  for  it,  all  the  same.  That  was 
what  his  smile  told  her.  And  when  had  Sebastian  tried 
for  any  scholastic  prize  that  he  had  not  achieved? 
He  had  won  a  classical  scholarship  at  Harrow  before  he 
was  twelve,  refused  it,  and  been  elected  on  the  founda- 
tion at  Eton  the  following  year. 

David  Kendall  had  not  allowed  his  son  to  become  a 
colleger,  so  Vanessa  had  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
K.S.  after  his  name,  in  the  school  list.  But  there  were 
few  school  distinctions  obtainable  by  an  Oppidan  that 
Sebastian  had  not  acquired.  He  achieved  everything 
at  Eton,  except  skill  in  sport,  and  the  popularity  that 
goes  with  it.  His  mother  urged  him  always  on  his  course. 
She  had  a  pathetic,  overwhelming,  misdirected  pride  in 
all  his  small  triumphs.  When  he  won  the  Brinkman 
Divinity  Prize,  she  sent  paragraphs  about  it  to  the  Press  ! 
She  cherished  his  "sent  up  for  good"  reports,  as  if  they 
had  been  bank-notes ;  when  he  got  into  the  house  quar- 
tette, she  imagined  Mario  looking  to  his  laurels. 

In  some  respects  Vanessa  Kendall  had  failed  in  at- 
taining the  full  prime  of  womanhood.  Her  emotions 
were  all  young,  and  centred  in  unessentials.  The 
Harvey  prize  for  English  verse  at  present  filled  her 
horizon;  it  seemed  vital  that  Sebastian  should  win  it. 
She  was  visiting  Stella,  but  Stella  only  had  the  blurred 
background  of  her  attention.  She  had  been  listening 


20  SEBASTIAN 

all  the  time  for  Sebastian's  footsteps ;  she  knew  he  would 
follow  her  here ! 

"Have  you  got  a  plan?  Have  you  jotted  down  any 
of  the  lines  ?"  she  asked  him,  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  don't  bore  Aunt  Stella  about  the  Harvey.  I'll 
read  the  twaddle  to  you  when  we  get  home.  They  gave 
us  the  theme ;  '  Courage ! '  Original,  isn't  it  ?  Just 
like  them,  it's  a  regular  cinch  choosing  a  subject  for  the 
Harvey." 

"What  on  earth  is  a  cinch?"  asked  Stella.  "Is  that 
some  new  Eton  slang?" 

"Not  it!  Eton  never  invented  anything  so  good; 
it  is  the  American  for  a  dead  certainty.  We  have  got 
a  Yankee  in  our  house  this  half.  You  should  hear  his 
opinion  of  our  arrangements !  He  says  his  father's 
dogs  are  better  lodged.  I  tell  you  what,  Aunt  Stella, 
of  all  the  crackpot  old  institutions  that  ought  to  be 
shown  up  for  mismanagement  and  muddlement,  and 
general  rottenness,  it  is  Eton." 

She  handed  him  the  jam  roll. 

"  Never  mind,  old  boy.  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  put 
it  right,  and  I  should  think,  if  you  mentioned  your  views 
in  the  school  magazine,  you  would  achieve  popularity 
with  the  authorities  at  a  stroke.  Now,  tell  me,  where  is 
Bice?  What  have  you  done  with  my  Bice?" 

He  was  very  much  in  the  way.  She  had  a  thousand 
things  to  discuss  with  his  mother.  Children  are  always 
in  the  way  with  grown-up  people,  Stella  thought.  She 
kept  her  Bice  in  the  schoolroom,  in  the  background. 
But  Vanessa  was  never  happy  without  her  lout  about 
her!  This  was  what  Mrs.  Ashton  thought.  What  she 


SEBASTIAN  21 

did,  always,  was  to  make  the  boy  welcome  in  her  pretty 
drawing-room,  to  feed  him  with  jam  sandwiches,  and 
interest  in  his  pursuits.  This  was  Stella's  method,  the 
secret  of  her  charming  personality.  And  Vanessa, 
although  she  occasionally  suspected  her  sister  of  failing 
in  complete  sincerity,  never  doubted  that  her  interest  in 
Sebastian  and  his  career  was  real.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  it  should  be  otherwise,  seeing  that  his  intellect 
was  so  overwhelming,  his  brilliancy  so  remarkable,  his 
certainty  of  carrying  on  the  Ventom  tradition  so  com- 
plete. 

They  were  Mrs.  Ashton  and  Mrs.  Kendall;  but  to 
Vanessa,  at  least,  they  remained,  primarily,  the  daughters 
of  John  Hepplewight- Ventom,  the  remarkable  father  to 
whom  her  allegiance  never  faltered. 

When  Stella  repeated  her  question  about  Bice  for  the 
third  time,  Sebastian  thought  the  limit  of  his  self- 
restraint  was  reached. 

"I  left  her  on  the  floor  in  the  schoolroom,  trying  to 
kick  down  the  door,"  he  said,  calmly. 

"  Oh,  Sebastian !  You  have  not  been  making  my 
baby  cry  again?  She  was  so  looking  forward  to  your 
leave.  Why  will  you  wretched  children  quarrel  ?  Your 
mother  and  I  never  did." 

"The  mater  has  a  perfect  temper,"  he  replied,  quite 
unmoved.  "I  expect  that  is  how  it  was.  So  have  I, 

but  Bice "  He  took  another  large  slice  of  cake; 

his  manners  were  never  quite  on  a  level  with  his  intelli- 
gence, "she  is  a  holy  terror."  He  drew  a  long  breath 
over  her. 

Vanessa  never  found  fault  with  Sebastian;  in  simple 


22  SEBASTIAN 

truth,  she  never  thought  there  was  any  fault  in  him; 
she  admired  his  sincerity  when  it  was  impossible  to 
admire  his  suavity.  But  at  this  juncture  she  did  venture 
to  say: 

"I  suppose  you  beat  her  at  ping-pong?" 

"Yes,  I  admit  that." 

"It  cannot  be  pleasant  to  be  always  beaten." 

"Well,  mater,  you  needn't  hold  a  brief  for  Bice.  I 
know  more  about  her  than  any  one  else ;  she  is  all  right 
in  a  way,  but  she  has  got  no  self-control,  no  self-control 
at  all.  She  ought  to  go  to  boarding-school." 

"And  what  am  I  to  do  without  my  baby?" 

Stella  hardly  resented  Sebastian's  words.  What 
she  did  resent  was  his  presence  there  at  all.  She  wanted 
to  talk  to  his  mother. 

"Oh!  you  would  be  all  right.  You  and  the  mater 
are  quite  content  with  each  other.  In  the  summer  half 
you  might  come  down  to  Windsor,  and  stop  at  the 
'White  Hart';  it  is  not  at  all  a  bad  sort  of  pub." 

"And  you  could  dine  with  me  there  sometimes?" 

He  did  not  resent  the  gentle  sarcasm. 

"That  is  the  ticket,"  he  smiled. 

Stella's  gift  of  superficial  sympathy  had  established 
her  position  with  Sebastian.  He,  too,  had  complete 
faith  in  her  interest  in  him,  and  in  his  importance  to 
her,  and  to  the  family  of  Hepplewight-Ventom  generally. 
She  was  only  less  to  him  than  his  own  mother  because 
he  thought  less  of  her  abilities.  He  did  not  consider  her 
clever.  And  he  had  no  doubt  that  she  had  brought 
up  her  daughter  disgracefully.  He  contrasted  it  with 
his  own  upbringing,  and  although  he  had  to  admit  that 


SEBASTIAN  23 

his  aunt  had  inferior  material  upon  which  to  work,  still 
he  believed  something  could  have  been  made  of  Bice, 
if  she  had  been  trained  differently. 

Stella  Ashton  was  one  of  those  women,  irresponsible, 
humorous  and  delicate,  who  make  instinctive  appeal  to 
everything  masculine.  She  was  small,  with  exquisite 
hands  and  feet;  her  pale  face  was  crowned  with  hair 
that  waved  naturally,  brown  in  the  shadows,  and  red 
in  the  lights.  Sometimes  the  lids  of  the  light  blue  eyes 
showed  pinkish,  and  there  were  wrinkles  in  the  corners. 
But  always  her  lips  were  soft  and  inviting,  and  her  smile 
charming,  lacking  only  youth  and  happiness  to  make 
it  irresistible.  Although  Stella  ranked  so  close  to  his 
mother  in  Sebastian's  calm  affections,  he  never  put  this 
puzzling  aunt  of  his  on  the  same  pinnacle  of  respect. 
It  was  an  instinct  with  him,  he  did  not  reason  about  it, 
was  scarcely  conscious  of  a  feeling  to  which  he  could  put 
no  name. 

It  was  strange  to  think  of  Stella  and  Vanessa  as  twins. 
Stella  was  delicate,  Vanessa  had  never  known  a  day's 
illness.  Vanessa's  eyes  were  of  a  darker  hue  than  her 
sister's,  the  thick  lashes  veiling  them;  there  was  not  a 
ripple  in  the  burnished  ebon  of  her  hair,  but  a  patch  of 
white  over  her  left  temple  gave  it  distinction.  She  was 
half  a  head  taller  than  her  sister,  and  might  have  been 
ten  years  younger.  There  were  no  wrinkles  round  her 
eyes,  no  lines  in  her  face.  It  was  not  as  lovable  as 
Stella's,  it  was  the  face  of  a  clever  girl  to  whom  every- 
thing was  fresh,  interesting,  but  whose  personal  impor- 
tance, aims,  and  interests,  came  before  the  world. 

Sebastian  urged  his  view  about  boarding-school  for 
Bice  until  Vanessa  succeeded  in  changing  the  subject. 


24  SEBASTIAN 

"Beatrice  has  had  no  one  with  whom  to  practise 
her  ping-pong  except  her  companion.  By  the  way, 
Stella,  Sebastian  told  me  the  new  companion  is  a  Miss 
Pleyden-Carr;  not  Ambrose  Pleyden-Carr's  daughter, 
surely?" 

Stella  would  have  answered,  but  Sebastian  had  a 
quick  point  to  make. 

"She  has  just  as  much  practice  as  I  have.  They 
don't  play  ping-pong  at  Eton." 

"Yes,  it  is  Ambrose  Pleyden-Carr's  daughter.  I'll 
talk  to  you  about  that  presently."  Then  she  turned 
again  to  the  boy : 

"I  am  sure  you  were  rude,  or  unkind,  or  something. 
Bice  has  been  counting  on  your  coming  the  whole  week. 
Every  evening  when  she  kissed  me  good-night,  she  said, 
'Sebastian  is  coming  on  Saturday,  Mummie.  Saturday 
and  Sunday  I  shall  have  Sebastian.'  And  now  you 
have  been  quarrelling  with  her !" 

Aunt  Stella  was  distressed,  and  therefore  his  mother 
looked  vexed;  so  Sebastian,  although  he  felt  the  injustice, 
and  the  absurdity  of  it,  and  jerked  up  his  chin  in  con- 
tempt of  women,  and  women's  arguments,  nevertheless 
answered : 

"I  suppose  that  means  you  want  me  to  go  down,  and 
bring  her  round?" 

"There's  a  dear,"  said  Stella.  "I  am  sure  she  is 
crying  on  the  floor  of  the  schoolroom,  all  by  herself. 
Perhaps  she  has  got  a  bad  temper,  but  she  adores  you. 
I  aril  sure  I  can't  see  why,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

Sebastian  smiled,  too.  In  the  vicinity  of  either, 
or  both,  of  his  parents,  he  knew  himself  to  be  enveloped 
in  an  atmosphere  of  admiring  love. 


SEBASTIAN  25 

"Have  it  your  own  way,"  said  the  boy,  'good-hu- 
mouredly.  "I  will  go  down  to  her.  It's  an  awful  bore, 
but  then,  I  suppose,  one  must  always  bore  oneself  in  the 
holidays,  and  annoy  oneself  in  school-time;  that's  what 
they  call  life  !"  And  he  sauntered  out  of  the  room. 

"Isn't  he  good-natured?"  said  his  mother,  when  the 
door  closed  behind  him. 

"A  bit  of  a  prig,  don't  you  think?"  answered  his  aunt, 
interrogatively.  "But  there,  never  mind.  I  see  he  is 
still  perfect  in  your  eyes;  and,  anyway,  thank  heavens, 
he  has  gone  downstairs,  and  we  can  talk.  Did  you  see 
that  Etruscan  article  in  the  Quarterly?  I  thought  you 
would  be  full  of  nothing  else  this  afternoon.  I  suppose 
you  have  already  written  reams  to  the  editor  about  his 
ignorance,  and  of  how  much  better  informed  you  are, 
and,  incidentally,  what  father  said,  or  wrote." 

"No,  I  have  not  had  time  to  think,  much  less  read, 
or  write.  There  are  two  crinoline  pieces  of  Dresden  in 
to-morrow's  sale  at  Christie's,  and  they  have  been  before 
me  night  and  day.  Nothing  older,  or  younger,  seems  of 
importance.  Just  now  Etruria  has  no  hold  on  me,  and 
the  eighteenth  is  the  only  century  that  counts." 

"What  an  extraordinary  obsession  that  is  of  yours ! 
I  can  buy  all  the  vases  I  want  for  one-and-elevenpence- 
half-penny  at  D.  H.  Evans',  or  Whiteley's,  and  I  am  sure 
my  rooms  always  look  as  well  as  yours,  although  you 
are  a  millionaire,  and  I  am  a  pauper." 

"Millionaire!  To  hear  David  talk,  sometimes,  you 
would  think  /  was  the  pauper.  And,  by  the  way, 
Stella,  do  you  really  think  crinoline  pieces  of  Dresden 
are  vases?" 


26  SEBASTIAN 

"Vases  or  figures,  it  is  all  the  same.  Your  china 
mania  is  an  absurdity  !  Why  don't  you  breed  dogs  ?  " 

"I  don't  like  the  smell  of  them,  or  their  promiscuous 
habits.  You  think  it  extravagant  when  I  buy  china, 
but  your  bill  at  Jay's  is  twice  as  much  as  mine  at  Red- 
fern's.  And  you  must  spend  a  fortune  at  the  florist's," 
looking  round  at  the  roses  and  lilies,  "I  cannot  think 
how  you  do  it. " 

"Oh,  don't  worry.  They  come  from  Co  vent  Garden, 
and  cost  nothing.  I  hate  having  my  money  affairs  dis- 
cussed. I  know  how  to  manage  my  income,  that  is  all," 
said  Stella,  hastily. 

She  never  liked  to  discuss  her  finances  with  Vanessa. 
Vanessa  was  such  a  clever  woman,  and  so  wonderfully 
dull,  in  some  things ! 

The  sisters  were,  financially,  on  a  very  different  foot- 
ing, although  their  fortunes  had  been  the  same.  Jack 
Ashton,  when  he  left  his  wife  in  England,  had  left  no 
provision  for  her  but  debts,  and  an  exhausted  credit. 
David  Rendall,  although  he  was  a  saint,  and  no  husband 
for  any  woman,  had  inherited  an  old  substantial  business, 
and  made  a  commensurate  income.  Yet  there  was  no 
luxury  that  Vanessa  had,  and  Stella  lacked. 

These  two  lived  in  a  wonderful  intimacy,  and  in  a 
daily  intercourse.  But  the  gulf  of  silences  created  by 
their  marriages  had  deepened,  and  broadened,  day  by 
day,  and  year  by  year.  And  of  the  gulf  Vanessa  knew 
nothing,  deeming  herself  completely  in  her  sister's  con- 
fidences, delicately  respecting  some  few  scruples,  re- 
taining the  same  herself;  thinking,  quite  rightly,  that 
Stella  understood,  without  speech,  her  life  with  David, 


SEBASTIAN  27 

taking  for  granted,  quite  wrongly,  that  she  understood 
what  Stella's  had  been  with  Jack,  and  what  it  was  with- 
out him.  Stella  gazed  sometimes  across  that  gulf  of 
silence,  in  whimsical  amusement,  at  her  more  brilliant 
sister,  who  counted  herself  a  woman  of  the  world;  who 
held  a  salon,  and  collected  china,  and  wrote  epigrammatic, 
futile  novels,  and  cherished  the  family  name;  and  was 
so  blind,  and  innocent,  and  unworldly. 

If  neither  of  these  two  had  realised  happiness,  Stella, 
at  least,  knew  all  that  she  had  missed.  Vanessa,  with 
her  ambitions  for  her  son,  her  books,  and  circle  of  ad- 
mirers, her  china,  and  prints,  never  dreamed  that  her 
life  was  lacking. 

Stella  had  no  illusions  left  to  her. 

The  sisters  chatted  that  evening  until  it  was  time  for 
dinner.  Time  for  Vanessa  Kendall  to  go  home  to  her 
evening  dress,  and  menservants,  her  well-conducted  meal, 
with  its  elaborate  setting,  time  for  her  to  reluctantly 
leave  Stella  to  what  she  supposed  was  solitude. 

After  dinner,  in  that  'luxurious,  over-full  drawing- 
room  in  Harley  Street,  Sebastian  lounged  on  the  big, 
softly  cushioned  sofa,  and  read  extracts  to  his  mother 
from  the  poem  with  which  he  was  endeavouring  to  win 
the  Harvey  prize  for  English  verse.  He  asked  her 
opinion  of  the  lines,  and  of  his  treatment  of  the  subject. 
He  was  very  annoyed,  although  he  fancied  he  concealed 
it  completely,  when  she  found  anything  he  had  done  less 
than  perfect.  And  he  disputed,  or  brushed  aside  im- 
patiently, any  unfavourable  comment.  He  queried 
her  suggestions,  and  argued  every  point. 

In  the  end,  nevertheless,  the  poem  was  reshaped,  not 


28  SEBASTIAN 

as  it  had  been  first  projected  in  his  young,  inexperienced 
mind,  but  as,  in  her  wider,  and  more  mature  intelligence, 
she  made  him  see  that  it  should  develop.  She  was  a 
writer  by  inheritance,  as  well  as  by  inclination,  and  most 
dexterously  used  her  small  talent.  She  wrote  novels, 
mordant  and  modern,  and  evanescent,  and  a  gleam  from 
her  father's  mantle  of  glory  lit  the  critic's  judgment  of 
her  work.  She  had  success,  and  a  special  public,  but 
guessed  her  limitations.  Sebastian  was  a  boy  in  whom 
she  saw  genius,  the  will-o'-the-wisp  that  had  illumined 
her  father's  life,  and  evaded  her  own. 

When  the  poem  had  been  revised,  and  the  words 
flowed  easily  from  his  pen  on  the  lines  she  had  indicated, 
her  pride  in  him  was  quite  uncritical.  He  declaimed  it 
to  her,  when  he  had  gone  over  it,  correcting  quantities 
with  a  scholarly  air  of  absorption  and  importance. 
His  voice  was  young,  somewhat  low,  but  it  had  a  quality 
that  held  the  ear,  a  note  of  music,  although  the  music 
was  in  the  minor  key.  She  watched  him  as  he  recited 
the  poem,  and  the  words  he  had  written,  and  the  deep 
young  voice,  made  her  think  of  Keats,  Shelley.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  here,  in  this  boy,  hers,  was  all  their 
fire,  and  immortal  genius.  And  to  her  was  entrusted 
his  future !  His  career  should  not  be  wrecked,  nor  his 
splendid  talents  obscured.  She  was  intensely  proud  of 
her  possession,  of  Sebastian,  she  would  garner  up  his 
sands  of  life,  and  they  should  be  all  golden.  Nothing 
she  had  written  might  live,  but  she  had  given  life  to  this. 
She  was  very  proud,  and  quite  happy,  missing  nothing 
as  she  watched  him. 

When  she  went  to  bed  that  night,  the  thought  of  his 


SEBASTIAN  29 

career  followed  her  into  her  dreams.  She  was  still  a 
young  woman,  little  more  than  thirty-six  years  of  age, 
yet  this  was  all  her  dreams  gave  her.  They  had  never 
taken  her  nearer  to  happiness,  nor  nearer  to  mystery, 
than  Sebastian,  and  Sebastian's  career.  Whether  she 
slept,  or  whether  she  woke,  whenever  she  was  out  of  the 
puppet  world,  she  saw  that  thin  and  mobile  face,  crowned 
with  laurel  leaves,  framed  in  green  vistas  of  triumphal 
arches. 

She  had  seen  him  —  a  crowd  hanging  on  his  words, 
as  he  defended  some  unhappy  prisoner  with  irresistible 
eloquence.  She  had  pictured  him  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, making  the  maiden  speech  on  which  a  unanimous 
Press  would  hail  him  as  a  descendant  of  the  Great  Com- 
moner. As  judge,  or  as  prime  minister,  she  had  seen  him 
in  his  laurel  leaves,  but  without  the  triumphal  arches 
she  never  envisaged  him.  To-night,  in  her  happy  dream- 
ing, he  was  a  poet,  the  laureateship  illumined  him,  and 
he  stood  alone  among  his  fellows. 

That  was  Vanessa's  Saturday  evening. 

Stella's  was  different.  Stella  had  no  ambitions,  no 
illusions,  strange  experiences,  and  the  temperament  of 
many  artists.  Her  light  humour,  easy  temper,  her  per- 
functory sympathy  with  humanity  in  general,  and  her 
reliance  on  Vanessa's  love,  were  all  her  armoury  against 
a  horde  of  pressing,  continuous  troubles.  Often,  when 
she  was  alone,  her  time  was  spent  in  tears.  Her  friends 
envied  her  her  wonderful  spirits,  and  even  Vanessa  never 
guessed  what  it  was  that  tinged  those  eyelids  of  Stella's 
with  unbecoming  pink. 

Stella    sympathised    with    Vanessa    because    David 


30  SEBASTIAN 

Kendall  was  a  saint,  and  incidentally  a  tradesman. 
Of  her  own  matrimonial  burdens  she  made  no  plaint. 
But  never  a  morning  she  rose,  and  never  an  evening  she 
went  to  bed,  without  the  fear  lest  her  Daily  Mail,  Evening 
Standard,  or  Morning  Post  would  show  her  the  name 
she  bore,  with  some  disgraceful  story  attached  to  it. 
She  was  the  most  patient,  the  most  reticent  of  little 
women,  but  where  she  was  tenderest,  it  was  because  there 
she  had  been  the  deeper  lacerated.  And  in  her  soul,  she 
was  lonely,  because  even  Vanessa,  to  whose  strength  she 
clung,  and  on  whose  courage  she  leaned,  knew  nothing 
of  what  Jack  Ashton's  vices  and  follies,  his  disgraceful 
infidelities,  and  yet  more  disgraceful  amorousnesses  had 
taught  her,  nothing  of  where  her  knowledge  had  brought 
her. 

These  girls  were  the  daughters  of  a  man  of  high  prin- 
ciple, and  the  pride  of  them.  And  Stella  had  married 
for  love,  and  learned  it  afterwards,  in  a  sad  school. 

Stella  sat  in  her  pretty  drawing-room,  with  its  scents 
of  lilies  and  roses,  and  Beatrice  lay  in  her  lap.  Beatrice's 
tears  were  all  shed,  and  her  rage  had  exhausted  itself. 

"It  was  not  Sebastian's  fault,  Mummie.  I  was  angry 
because  he  wanted  Pleasey.  He  looked  round  the 
schoolroom,  and  frowned  —  you  know  the  way  Sebastian 
frowns  —  just  because  he  had  to  spend  the  afternoon 
alone  with  me." 

"Sebastian  is  rather  too  good,  rather  too  perfect, 
isn't  he?" 

But  the  child  was  loyalty  itself.  She  pondered  a  mo- 
ment or  two  over  the  proposition. 

"But  it  is  not  affectation,  Mummie,  he  really  does  do 


SEBASTIAN  31 

everything  better  than  any  one  else.  He  is  always 
right!" 

"The  people  who  are  always  right,  my  Bice,  fail  a 
little  in  understanding  their  fellow-mortals,"  Stella  said, 
almost  to  herself.  "  Vanessa  is  always  right,  too." 

" Doesn't  Aunt  Vanessa  understand?" 

"Not  quite  —  perhaps." 

"Why  don't  you  make  her  ?  " 

"Your  Aunt  Vanessa  is  very  clever,  and  she  thinks 
Sebastian  is  cleverer  still,  so  it  is  no  great  wonder  that 
he  is  impressed  with  himself,  and  his  own  importance. 
But  I  wish  he  would  not  make  my  baby  unhappy," 
she  went  on,  caressing  her. 

Dreamily  the  child  answered,  her  head  pressed  against 
her  mother's  breast,  her  eyes  half-closed. 

"It  wasn't  Sebastian's  fault.  I  expect  I  shall  always 
be  unhappy." 

And  then  Stella  grew  chill,  shivered,  gathered  the  girl 
closer  to  her,  had,  perhaps,  an  unspoken  prayer  in  that 
soft,  ill-regulated  heart  of  hers. 

"Don't  be  so  silly,"  was  all  she  answered,  however. 
"Are  you  not  happy  now?" 

"I  like  lying  in  your  arms,  I  love  you  better  than 
anything  in  the  world,  Mummie,  you  and  Sebastian " 

"Well " 

Sebastian  had  said  Beatrice  had  no  self-control.  Yet 
the  child  lay  still  when  her  mother's  questioning  voice 
reached  her  ears;  lay  still  for  a  long  time.  She  would 
not  say  what  was  in  her  heart.  It  lay  in  her  heart 
that  she  must  always  be  unhappy,  because  she  loved 
people  more  than  they  loved  her.  All  she  said,  how- 
ever, was: 


32  SEBASTIAN 

"I  am  too  sleepy  to  talk.  Let  me  go  to  sleep  here. 
Hannah  can  carry  me  up  to  bed  asleep,  like  she  used  to 
when  I  was  a  little  girl." 

"You  were  always  spoilt." 

"That  is  what  Sebastian  says;  but  it's  only  because 
you  never  have  any  time  to  say  '  No'  to  me." 

Stella  laughed  lightly.  It  was  true.  She  rose  late, 
and  her  early  hours  were  languid,  in  the  afternoon  there 
were  visitors,  and  various  occupations.  There  was  never 
time  to  contradict  Bice,  nor  argue  with  her.  It  had 
always  been  so  much  easier  to  say  "Yes"  to  anything 
she  asked,  and  thus  avoid  all  tears,  and  contention. 

"  So  Sebastian  thinks  you  are  spoilt !  I  wonder  what 
he  thinks  about  himself?  You  really  must  get  down 
now.  You  are  getting  too  heavy  for  me,  and  I  cannot  ask 
Hannah  to  carry  a  grown-up  young  lady  to  bed,  it  is 
absurd." 

Stella  was  really  fragile.  Even  Bice's  weight  was  too 
much  for  her.  She  put  the  girl  off  her  lap,  and  entreated 
her  to  go  to  bed.  There  was  much  kissing,  and  many 
loving  words;  Stella's  demonstrative  affection  to  Bice 
was  in  reverse  to  Vanessa's  apparent  coolness  with 
Sebastian. 

She  had  got  rid  of  the  child  by  nine  o'clock.  Now 
the  evening  was  her  own,  and  that  solitude,  for  which 
her  sister  pitied  her,  should  have  begun. 

Perhaps  she  was  to  be  pitied,  although,  before  she  had 
rested  a  little  quarter  of  an  hour,  she  heard  the  familiar 
sound  of  a  brougham  stopping  at  her  door,  the  familiar 
knock,  and  voice  on  the  stairs. 

So  weak,  so  solitary,  so  sweet  a  little  woman,  without 


SEBASTIAN  33 

a  husband's  countenance,  or  the  protection  of  a  chastened 
widowhood,  had  not  been  able  to  keep  her  defences 
intact.  Here  was  the  intruder,  here,  too,  was  the  mystery 
of  Lord  Saighton's  life,  his  strange  political  lapses,  his 
brilliant  mistakes,  uncertain  ambitions,  and  unrelia- 
bility. Here,  in  this  secret  orchard,  lay  the  explanation 
of  all  of  them.  For  the  orchard  had  been  planted  in  bog 
and  swamp,  and  corruption  lay  in  the  tangled  roots  of 
its  gnarled  and  distorted  fruit  trees. 


CHAPTER  III 

SEBASTIAN  did  not  obtain  the  recognition  he  antici- 
pated for  his  ambitious  poem. 

The  Harvey  prize  for  English  verse  was  awarded  to 
Sparkes,  K.S.  And  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  end. 
Sparkes,  K.S.,  although  he  was  only  "a  dirty  little  tug," 
was  a  personal  acquaintance  of  Sebastian's,  and,  under 
very  slight  pressure,  was  persuaded  to  show  his  friend  a 
copy  of  his  prize  poem. 

It  was  shown  to  Vanessa  too ;  for  Vanessa  went  down 
to  Eton  to  hear  the  result  of  the  competition,  and  was 
lunching  with  her  boy  at  Leyton's  the  very  day  it  was 
announced. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  dilate  upon  the  respective 
literary,  or  scholastic,  merits  of  the  poems.  Naturally, 
considered  as  works  of  art,  they  were  both  rather  futile. 
But  there  was  no  possible  doubt  as  to  which  was  the 
better  of  the  two.  Sebastian  had  had  an  idea,  and  had 
worked  it  out  consistently.  He  had  taken  for  his  thesis 
the  superiority  of  moral,  over  physical,  courage,  and  told 
a  story  to  exemplify  it. 

It  was  the  time  of  the  South  African  War,  and  the 
picture  he  had  drawn  was  of  the  women,  hardening  their 
hearts,  sending  forth  their  husbands,  lovers,  brothers, 
sons ;  holding  back  their  tears,  whilst  urging  on  the  men; 
seeing  all  that  made  life  sweet  leave  them,  but  being 

34 


SEBASTIAN  35 

brave  for  their  country,  and  for  themselves;  sitting  at 
home,  afterwards,  knitting  socks,  and  working  com- 
forters, their  withheld  tears  falling  slowly,  then,  in  silence, 
and  in  solitude.  The  poem  was  divided  into  two  parts. 
In  the  first  one  heard  the  rustle,  and  clank,  the  move- 
ment of  soldiers  amid  the  shriek  of  the  cannon,  "the 
murderous  music  of  Maxims,"  as  the  boy  had  phrased  it; 
in  the  second,  one  saw  the  women,  waiting,  watching, 
praying,  in  their  empty  rooms,  and  desolate  homes. 
The  thing,  although  it  was  immature,  was  nevertheless 
alive;  one  felt  the  conviction  in  it,  and  it  convinced. 

Sparkes,  K.S.'s  poem  was  Newbolt  and  water.  There 
was  nothing  in  it  to  arrest  the  attention.  It  contained 
lines,  not  pictures,  and  those  lines  were  ready-made  ones, 
remembered,  not  invented.  Putting  the  two  poems 
side  by  side,  and  selecting  the  latter  for  recommendation, 
argued  gross  unfairness,  or  dense  ignorance.  It  was  not 
a  case  for  anything  between  these  two  opinions. 

Vanessa  read  the  poems  through  very  carefully,  and 
very  slowly,  whilst  the  boy  ate  his  roast  fowl,  drank  his 
ginger  beer,  and  watched  her,  without  speaking.  It 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Vanessa  Kendall's  was  a 
name  quite  well  known  in  the  world  of  letters.  Stella 
and  Vanessa  were  the  daughters  of  John  Hepplewight- 
Ventom,  whose  "Epigrams  of  the  Saints,"  "In  Umbrian 
Hills  and  Valleys,"  and  "Romances  of  the  Sabine  Hills," 
are  amongst  the  most  notable  literary  works  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  And  in  the  second  place,  Vanessa  had 
achieved  her  own  distinction,  by  the  delicate  flavour, 
and  cultured  mannerisms  of  her  half  score  of  society 
novels.  In  appealing  to  her  judgment,  therefore,  Se- 


36  SEBASTIAN 

bastian  was  resting  upon  something  tangible,  and  as- 
sured. Had  there  been  a  question  between  Vanessa 
Rendall,  and  the  head-master  of  Eton,  on  a  subject  of 
literary  taste,  or  values,  the  literary  public  would  not 
have  hesitated,  at  any  moment,  to  have  accepted  the 
woman's  dictum. 

She  read  Sparkes's  poem  very  carefully,  she  was  anx- 
ious not  to  be  biassed.  But  it  was  really  not  a  position 
in  which  hesitation  was  possible.  The  King's  scholar 
had  succeeded  in  writing  sixty  lines  of  versification, 
without  one  original  thought  or  phrase. 

"Well,  mater?"  asked  Sebastian,  when  he  had  com- 
manded pine-apple  and  cream,  and  had  informed  the 
waiter  that  he  should  require  an  ice  to  follow.  "Well, 
mater?"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think  of  Eton  now?" 

She  pushed  the  papers  aside;  she  was  on  her  own  sub- 
ject, and  spoke  with  authority: 

"Not  a  doubt  about  it,  not  room  for  a  shadow  of 
doubt ;  yours  is  a  poem  —  immature,  of  course,  crude, 
but  full  of  imagination,  power,  and  intelligence.  The 
other  is  a  very  bad  schoolboy  essay,  without  distinction, 
or  individuality.  The  decision  that  gave  its  author  the 
prize,  and  withheld  it  from  you,  is  grossly  unfair  and 
indefensible.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"  I  will  talk  to  you  about  that  presently.  In  the  first 
place,  I  only  wanted  your  opinion.  You  know  I  am  not 
conceited,  but  I  have  read  a  good  bit,  and  I  believe  I 
do  know  when  a  thing  is  absolutely  worthless.  They 
have  cheated  me  out  of  this  prize." 

"Has  Ferguson  seen  them  both?" 

Mr.  Ferguson  was  Sebastian's  tutor,  and  house-master. 


SEBASTIAN  37 

"  Yes,  he  asked  me  to  show  him  mine,  and  this  morning 
I  showed  him  Sparkes's." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Practically  the  same  as  you  do.  Then  he  tried  to 
gloze  it  over  by  talking  a  lot  of  twaddle  about  '  working 
for  work's  sake/  and  not  for  the  sake  of  reward." 

"What  he  usually  puts  into  your  report?" 

"The  same  sort  of  rubbish.  'Dignity  and  value  of 
labour'  — '  desire  for  prizes  somewhat  vulgar.'  He  is  an , 
awful  ass;  conscientious,  you  know,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  but  he  doesn't  know  the  world.  Never  been 
outside  of  Eton,  except  to  go  to  Oxford,  nor  outside 
Oxford,  except  to  return  to  Eton.  But,  of  course,  I 
could  see  he  knew  my  poem  was  miles  ahead  of  the 
other." 

"  Do  you  think  he  influenced  the  placing  of  the  prize  ? 
That  he  thought  it  good  for  your  moral  character  not 
to  win  always?" 

"No."  Sebastian  admitted  it,  although  reluctantly. 
"  I  don't  believe  he  actually  influenced  the  result.  But 
he  has  probably,  at  some  time  or  another,  told  the  Head 
of  my  vulgar  liking  to  be  recognised.  You  see,  all  the 
things  I  have  got,  are  things  neither  of  them  could  keep 
from  me.  The  'Trial'  prizes,  the  'Brinkman  Divinity,' 
and  the  'sent  up  for  goods.'  But  they  wouldn't  give  me 
the  Harvey,  and  you  will  see  they  won't  give  me  the  Jelf . 
You  want  me  to  stay  and  have  a  shot  for  the  Newcastle, 
but  they  wouldn't  give  me  that  either.  You  don't 
know  the  ropes  here,  mater.  It  suits  them  to  give  any- 
thing that  is  going,  in  that  sort  of  way,  to  a  Tug.  There 
is  a  place  in  the  boats  for  us,  or  in  the  eleven,  or  at  foot- 


38  SEBASTIAN 

ball;  we  can  compete  in  the  racquet  court.  But  the 
Oppidans  have  no  right  to  try  for  scholastic  success, 
it's  considered  bad  form.  The  authorities  really  look 
upon  me  as  an  outsider,  because  of  what  I  have  done 
already.  And  so  do  the  fellows.  Of  course,  I  ought  to 
be  in  Pop,  but  I'm  not,  and  never  shall  be.  lam  too 
good  at  school  work,  that's  a  fact,  and  they  resent  it 
all  through  the  place.  The  thing  is  worked  on  a  distinct 
plan,  and  to  kick  against  it  is  just  pawing  the  air." 

"I  do  not  think  you  are  right  about  the  Newcastle. 
Surely  an  Oppidan  does  sometimes  get  that?" 

"Once,  nineteen  years  ago;  and  his  father  was  on 
the  council!" 

Vanessa  paid  for  the  lunch,  and  they  sauntered  down 
Brocas  to  the  boat-house,  still  talking  of  the  injustice 
that  had  been  done  to  Sebastian.  It  is  rare,  astonish- 
ingly rare,  to  find  a  mother  and  son  with  the  good  under- 
standing existing  between  these  two,  they  seemed  more 
like  brother  and  sister.  The  time  came  when  they  lost 
that  fine  comprehension  for  a  while,  but  to-day  it  was 
complete  between  them. 

The  silver-grey  water  was  jotted  with  boats,  outriggers, 
and  skiffs.  The  eight  shot  past  rafts,  the  sun  shining  on 
young  arms  pulling  vigorously,  shoulders  thrown  back, 
and  faces  set.  The  cox  leaned  forward,  shouting  con- 
tinuously, and  from  the  banks,  one  of  the  masters,  on  a 
bicycle,  called  out  criticism  and  comment;  many  boys 
ran  beside  him. 

Sebastian  rowed  his  mother  away  from  the  crowd, 
into  the  haze  of  the  June  afternoon,  into  the  silence  of 
the  Clewer  backwater.  She  consoled  his  young  pride, 


SEBASTIAN  39 

and  cheered  him  by  her  complete  comprehension  of 
where,  and  how,  it  had  been  wounded.  But  still,  she 
had  not  anticipated  the  conclusion  at  which  he  had 
arrived.  She  had  mapped  out  Sebastian's  life  for  him, 
in  that  calm  moment,  succeeding  her  night  of  agony, 
when  the  doctor's  voice  had  penetrated  her  drugged 
brain,  and  she  had  heard  him  say: 

"It's  a  fine  boy;  a  Ventom  heir;  well,  the  world  ought 
to  hear  of  this  little  fellow." 

From  that  hour  to  the  present,  her  son  had  been  to 
her  materialised  ambition.  He  had  stood  next  to  her 
work,  before  even  Stella,  she  hardly  yet  knew  how  much 
he  meant  to  her.  She  never  contemplated  anything  for 
him  but  brilliant  success,  and  until  now,  indeed,  his  foot- 
steps had  not  faltered  in  the  path  she  had  marked  out. 

"They  cannot  keep  you  out  of  the  Newcastle,"  she 
reiterated,  for  about  the  fourth  time. 

But  Sebastian,  rowing  on,  giving  her  an  occasional 
direction  as  to  the  steering,  throwing  out  an  occasional 
irrelevant  observation,  made  no  reply.  Sebastian,  in 
his  grey  trousers,  flannel  shirt,  and  grey  felt  hat,  rowed 
leisurely.  Under  that  shapeless  hat  one  saw  the  sharply- 
cut  young  face,  pale ;  the  thin-lipped  mouth  was  nervous, 
but  the  cleft  chin  was  square  and  strong.  No  one 
could  have  called  Sebastian  Kendall  a  handsome  boy, 
but  his  was  a  beautifully  modelled  head,  wide  in  the 
brow,  Grecian  in  its  contour,  and  not  only  Vanessa  saw 
the  promise  in  it.  She  appreciated  the  strength,  yet 
this  afternoon  she  dreaded  it.  It  seemed  to  her  he  had 
come  to  some  resolution,  that  he  had  something  to  say 
to  her  of  more  importance  than  he  had  yet  told  her. 


40  SEBASTIAN 

And  she  felt,  instinctively,  that  whatever  his  determina- 
tion, she  would  do  well  not  to  cross  it.  She  had  said  to 
herself  a  thousand  times,  noting  other  women  with 
adolescent  children,  that  if  there  came  a  moment  when 
Sebastian  and  she  thought  differently  on  a  given  subject, 
she  would  treat  him  as  an  equal.  She  would  not  oppose 
her  maternity  to  his  intelligence.  It  was  always  Vanessa 
Kendall's  way  to  make  phrases  of  her  feelings,  or  reso- 
lutions. At  this  period  of  her  life  she  was  primarily 
a  novelist.  Motherhood,  sisterhood,  womanhood  itself, 
were  shadows  to  the  printed  page's  substance. 

"Can  we  lie  up  by  the  lock,  or  are  you  in  a  hurry  to 
get  home?" 

"I  am  not  in  the  slightest  hurry.  I  can  catch  the 
7.32,  if  that  suits  you?" 

He  brought  the  boat  deftly  to  the  side  of  the  weir, 
and  shipped  his  sculls. 

"Tie  it  up,  and  let  us  go  for  a  walk,"  she  suggested. 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  walk.  She  will  ride  all  right 
here.  Make  room  for  me,  I  am  coming  to  sit  beside  you, 
so  that  we  can  talk  comfortably." 

She  made  room  for  him;  his  young  body,  lax  shoul- 
ders, undeveloped  chest,  the  boyishness  of  him,  she  saw 
clearly.  Nevertheless,  it  seemed  to  her  that  his  mind 
was  developed,  reliable !  She  had  a  curious  modesty, 
curious  considering  her  position.  She  never  doubted 
that  the  boy's  brain  was  of  better  quality  than  her  own. 
She  was  ready  to  listen  to  him,  not  with  condescension, 
but  with  deference.  They  sat  together  comfortably 
for  a  few  moments,  in  silent  companionship,  but  his  face 
was  quite  set  and  determined. 


SEBASTIAN  41 

"You  know,  mater,  after  this,  I  can't  stay." 

She  had  the  premonition  of  a  shock,  but  nevertheless 
it  fell  heavily. 

"The  Newcastle?"  she  reminded  him. 

"I  knew  you  would  be  disappointed.  I  have  made 
up  my  mind  to  stay  until  after  the  Fourth,  but  I  shan't 
go  and  say  good-bye  to  the  Head,  and  I  shan't  take  my 
leaving  book.  I'll  wash  my  hands  of  the  beastly  place 
without  any  ceremony." 

"Impossible!" 

"Oh,  I  knew  you  would  feel  pretty  sick  about  it. 
But  that  is  only  because  you  take  a  narrow  view.  Come 
to  think  of  it,  what  good  am  I  doing  here?  Don't  rot 
about  it,  just  think  it  out.  There  is  a  very  decent  set 
of  fellows  at  my  tutor's,  but  you  don't  suppose  they  are 
any  companions  to  me,  do  you?  When  a  man  wants 
to  read,  they  bang  at  his  door,  or  play  a  mouth-organ, 
or  get  up  an  amateur  band."  Sebastian's  grin  held  the 
remembrance  of  many  pranks.  "Of  course,  it  is  all 
right,  it  has  been  very  jolly  sometimes,  but  somehow 
or  other,  I  have  outgrown  horse-play,  I  don't  find  any 
more  fun  in  a  mouth-organ,  and  I  want  to  be  free." 

"  I  see  your  point  of  view.  But  not  staying  your  time 
out,  and  resenting  this  Harvey  matter,  seems  to  me, 
nevertheless—  '  she  hesitated  a  little  for  the  word, 
she  wanted  it  to  move  him,  "a  little  undignified." 

"Mater,  that  is  all  rot.  Dignity  and  exhibitions  are 
two  words  that  can't  be  used  in  one  sentence.  I  have 
hinted  what  I'm  going  to  say  to  you  now  half  a  dozen 
times,  but  you  never  took  any  notice  of  it.  I  have  gone 
on  in  the  path  you  laid  out,  just  because  you  wanted  it; 


42  SEBASTIAN 

not  because  I  have  had  any  illusions  about  it.  You  set 
your  heart  on  my  doing  all  the  things  that  are  no  good 
to  anybody  when  they  are  done.  And  as  learning  is 
easy  enough  to  me  I  did  them  just  to  please  you.  Prizes 
and  scholarships  have  appealed  to  your  vanity,  not  to 
mine:  I  soon  learnt  they  didn't  lead  anywhere.  Far 
from  impressing  the  world  I  live  in,  they  repel,  and  bore 
it.  Here  I  am  neither  fish,  fowl,  nor  good  red-herring. 
At  Hawtrey's,  I  worked  for  the  Harrow  Schol.  when  I 
might  have  got  into  the  second  eleven;  at  Eton  I  have 
flung  away  my  chance  for  the  eight,  it  was  a  very  poor 
one,  by  the  way,  by  getting  a  reputation  for  Latin  verse. 
And,  mind  you,  I  am  just  as  unpopular  with  the  masters 
as  I  am  with  the  boys.  They  are  here  to  teach  the 
Tugs,  and  watch  the  Oppidans.  I  have  complicated 
their  work.  They  suspect  a  fellow  of  all  sorts  of  things 
if  he  doesn't  play  games,  and  he  isn't  a  Tug.  If  you 
knew  the  beastly  minds  of  these  people  whom  you  expect 
us  to  obey  and  to  whom  we  are  supposed  to  look  up, 
it  would  make  you  sick !  An  average  of,  at  least,  ten 
boys  every  half  since  I  have  been  here,  have  been  sacked, 
or  superannuated,  because  the  authorities  have  neither 
known  how  to  guard,  nor  how  to  teach  them.  They 
have  been  ruined  for  life,  before  they  have  learnt  how 
to  take  care  of  themselves,  or  to  avoid  the  pitfalls,  dug 
by  the  beaks.  There  is  no  justice  in  the  place.  I  don't 
say  it  only  because  of  my  Harvey  poem,  although  that 
may  help  you  to  believe  it.  Look  at  Tagg's  house,  for 
instance.  It  was  broken  up,  and  thirty  fellows  sent 
away,  whilst  every  lower  boy  in  the  whole  school  knew 
they  kept  the  two  rotters  who  were  responsible  for  all 


SEBASTIAN  43 

the  trouble,  because  one  was  in  the  boat,  and  the  other 
in  the  eleven.  But  I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
that.  One  of  these  days  there  will  be  some  plain  speak- 
ing about  it,  and  that  will  be  the  end  of  the  famous  public 
school  system !  The  only  thing  we  really  are  taught 
here  thoroughly  is  to  hold  our  tongues;  and  for  very 
good  reason  too !  You  are  so  sensible,  that  I  don't 
mind  talking  to  you  pretty  straight ;  I  take  it  for  granted 
you  know  what  I  mean?" 

She  had  not  the  slightest  notion,  but  answered  nothing. 

"I've  done  my  last  stroke  of  work,  school  work.  It's 
no  good,  and  I'm  simply  sick  of  boys  and  masters.  I 
suppose  it  is  rather  low  down  of  me  not  to  have  spoken 
out  about  the  injustice,  or  resented  it  until  it  touched 
me  personally;  but  I  believe  I  was  coming  to  it.  I've 
studied  to  oblige  you,  since  I've  been  seven  years  old, 
and  now  I  have  finished  with  it.  Do  you  think  it  matters 
whether  they're  Eton  boys,  or  Oxford  boys  ?  Because  it 
doesn't,  not  a  bit !  It  is  all  run  on  the  same  lines.  I've 
put  in  my  last  piece  of  school  work,  you  can  bet  on  that. 
There's  no  good  arguing  with  me  about  it." 

She  was  silent,  and  he  too,  for  a  minute. 

"I  suppose  you  think  it's  just  because  I  have  been 
disappointed  in  the  Harvey  ?  "  he  said  tentatively. 

"No." 

"I've  been  sick  of  it  for  a  long  time.  You  talk  of 
atmosphere;  well,  I'm  in  the  wrong  atmosphere.  You 
see,  I  don't  really  like  any  of  the  things  the  fellows  about 
here  like,  and  I  resent  all  the  things  they  take  for 
granted." 

"Stalky  and  Co.?" 


44  SEBASTIAN 

"I  made  old  Ferguson  mad  by  quoting  that  at  him." 

"Is  there  any  use  arguing?  Are  you  open  to  argu- 
ment ?  Can  I  persuade  you,  do  you  think,  not  to  throw 
away  your  school  career  abruptly,  not  to  leave  Eton,  so 
to  speak,  under  a  cloud?" 

"I'm  not  going  on,  if  that's  what  you  mean  by  'am 
I  open  to  argument.'  I  see  I've  given  you  the  hump." 
For  truly  her  face  looked  dull  and  disappointed,  older, 
as  if  the  light  had  gone  out  of  it. 

"Well,"  as  one  making  a  great  sacrifice,  "I'll  stay 
the  half  out,  if  you  want  me  to;  and  I'll  get  my  leaving 
book,  although  I'd  like  to  refuse  it,  and  tell  the  Head 
what  I  think  of  the  school,  and  the  management  generally ; 
the  antiquated  laws,  the  beastly  narrowness,  and  all  the 
injustice  —  that's  what  I'd  like  to  do.  But  I  don't 
want  to  worry  you,  you're  not  a  bad  sort,  as  mothers  go, 
so  I'll  leave  in  the  odour  of  sanctity,  just  to  please  you, 
and  I'll  give  a  dinner  party,  if  it  will  run  to  it." 

"Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  she  interpolated  hastily. 

"A  really  good  bust,  champagne,  you  know.  That's 
the  sort  of  thing  they  like,  and  I'll  have  an  auction  of  my 
things,  and  make  them  a  farewell  speech  in  debate." 

He  went  into  details  as  to  how  he  should  celebrate 
his  departure.  And  Vanessa  sat  beside  him,  silent. 
The  blow,  for  of  course  it  was  a  blow,  hurt  her  beyond 
resentment.  Sebastian  had  been  brought  up  to  expect 
justice,  perhaps  more  than  justice.  The  platform,  upon 
which  his  character  was  being  moulded,  fell  to  pieces 
when  his  work  was  unappreciated.  She  knew,  immedi- 
ately he  had  failed  in  obtaining  the  Harvey,  that  her 
only  chance  of  re-establishing  the  school  authority  with 


SEBASTIAN  45 

him,  lay  in  persuading  him,  or  herself,  here  was  another 
genius  in  the  field,  and  that  a  better  poem  had  been  sent 
up.  Had  not  young  Sparkes,  in  the  vanity  of  his  heart, 
exhibited  his  prize  poem,  she  might  have  carried  her 
scheme  through.  But  there  was  no  argument  for  either 
of  them  in  face  of  Sparkes's  poem.  The  authority  with 
which  he  was  surrounded  could  not  establish  itself  in  the 
face  of  such  a  decision. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  look  so  depressed.  How  would 
you  like  to  be  shut  up  in  a  backyard  ?  That  is  the  posi- 
tion I'm  in,"  he  said,  breaking  off  from  his  description  of 
the  farewell  supper  he  would  give,  to  note  her  face.  "  It  is 
all  very  well  for  you  to  talk,  why,  you  were  married  at 
seventeen,  and  here  am  I,  over  that,  and  have  never  seen 
the  world  at  all." 

She  did  not  see  the  humour  of  his  plaint,  her  sense  of 
humour,  never  her  strongest  point,  was  always  in  abey- 
ance when  she  was  following  the  convolutions  of  Sebas- 
tian's mind ;  she  considered  him  too  seriously,  it  was  one 
of  her  many  mistakes. 

"  But  you  are  not  prepared  to  face  the  world,"  she  said, 
at  length,  hesitatingly. 

"All  rot,  mater.  Greek  and  Latin  don't  make  you  fit 
to  face  the  world,  nor  three  years  in  a  university.  We 
have  too  many  of  that  sort  here  for  me  not  to  know." 

"  But  you  are  not  fit,  you  are  not  ready,  you  are  not  old 
enough,  to  do  anything." 

She  could  not  yet  begin  to  focus  him  differently. 
Before  that  shadowy  university  career  was  over,  she 
would  have  arranged  the  next  section  of  his  life ;  without 
that  breathing  time,  she  was  nonplussed,  all  her  images 
confused. 


46  SEBASTIAN 

"  You  know  jolly  well,  that  doing  nothing  is  not  my  line. 
I  have  never  shirked  work,  nor  idled,  like  the  other 
fellows." 

It  was  true,  Sebastian  was  a  born  worker;  she  made  a 
quick  apology. 

"Why,  what  I  have  hated  most  at  Eton,  after  the 
injustice  of  the  expulsions,  has  been  the  encouragement 
of  the  laziness;"  he  went  on,  "I  have  never  seen  why 
it  should  be  considered  good  form  to  get  filthy  dirty  on  the 
footer  field,  and  bad  form  to  get  a  trial  prize ;  good  form 
to  walk  up  and  down  the  High,  socking,  and  bad  form  to 
sit  in  the  library.  Half  the  beaks  have  no  common  sense, 
and  the  others  have  no  power.  The  Head  only  cares 
about  the  boat.  And  besides,  mater,"  he  began  to 
urge  her  along  an  easier  path,  "the  place  is  fearfully  un- 
healthy. I  know  I  never  ever  felt  really  well  since  I've 
been  here.  We  have  been  swamped  every  winter,  and 
the  mud,  well,  you  should  just  smell  it !  " 

She  was  beyond  sustained  speech,  dull  with  disap- 
pointment, with  an  overwhelming  wish  not  to  estrange 
him,  not  to  show  herself  out  of  sympathy  with  his  sore- 
ness, and  irritation,  and  sense  of  having  been  badly 
treated.  To  whom  should  he  come  for  comfort  and 
comprehension,  if  not  to  his  mother  ?  Again  she  thought 
of  Shelley  and  his  parents.  David  Kendall  was  not  like 
that  narrow  squire,  Shelley's  father,  not  in  the  least  like 
him.  But  Vanessa  wanted  Sebastian  to  look  to  her,  and 
to  her  alone,  for  sympathy.  Perhaps  that  was  why  she 
asked: 

"What  do  you  think  your  father  will  say?" 

Sebastian  knew  and  trusted  David  better  than  Vanessa 


SEBASTIAN  47 

ever  had.  That  good,  unusual  father,  of  whom  he  so 
seldom  spoke,  had  touched  some  deeper  spring  in  the  boy's 
fine  nature  than  Vanessa  had  yet  reached,  notwithstand- 
ing her  intellectuality,  and  literary  fame. 

"Oh,  he  will  be  quite  satisfied.  But,  mater,  that 
reminds  me,  there  is  something  I  have  often  been  going 
to  ask  you,  you  don't  mind  —  '  there  was  a  certain 
hesitation.  What  he  had  to  ask  seemed  impertinent, 
inquisitive.  Sebastian  was  a  little  shy  about  it,  and  so 
surprised  her. 

"Ask?  Of  course  you  can  ask  me  anything ;  why  not? 
I  have  no  secrets  from  you.  What  is  it  ?  Go  on ! " 

"About  the  business,  about  the  pater's  income? 
Tell  me,  I  don't  ask  out  of  curiosity,  but  before  I  make 
my  plans  I  want  to  know.  Are  we  really  so  well  off  as  we 
seem  ?  Is  the  governor  rich  ?  He  hints  sometimes  — 
but  there,  of  course,  just  tell  me  what  you  like.  What 
have  I  got  to  rely  upon?  " 

"You  have  always  had  everything  you  want?" 
she  said  quickly. 

"Oh,  that  is  because  you  are  both  such  bricks  to  me. 
I  know  how  differently  I  am  treated  to  other  fellows,  but 
still  ...  I  want  to  know  how  soon  I  ought  to  be  earning 
money;  or  if  it  will  ever  be  necessary." 

She  did  not  reply  at  once.  Her  thoughts  required  re- 
adjusting, she  had  had  a  shock,  and  her  strength,  that 
strength  upon  which  she  prided  herself,  was  reeling  a 
little.  Of  course,  she  had  always  known  that  Sebastian 
had  been  a  little  outside,  a  little  separate  from  his  sur- 
roundings at  Eton.  She  had  been  satisfied,  perhaps  even 
proud,  that  he  had  not  assimilated  the  tone,  that  he  had 


48  SEBASTIAN 

not  become  the  mere  devotee  of  the  school,  a  mere  up- 
holder of  its  conventions,  like  other  boys. 

John  Hepplewight-Ventom  had  been  a  Borrow  of  the 
towns,  a  wanderer,  an  intellectual  gipsy.  The  Ventoms, 
a  long  line  of  them,  had  been  articulate  with  pen,  or  with 
brush,  one  of  them  even  with  the  violin  bow.  But  no 
Ventom  had  ever  been  articulate  in  praise  of  conserva- 
tive rule.  Reverence  for  tradition,  and  authority,  was 
not  Sebastian's  birthright,  not  from  her  side,  that  is  to 
say,  and  she  wished  to  think,  had  taught  herself  to  think, 
that  Sebastian  was  entirely  a  Ventom ;  that  David  Ken- 
dall's name  was  all  that  he  bore  of  Kendall.  It  was  one  of 
her  dreams  that  he  should  discard  even  that. 

"I  think  your  father  is  a  rich  man;  money  has  never 
interested  me  very  much.  I  suppose  he  does  not  work 
all  these  hours  for  nothing.  I  have  an  income  of  my  own, 
your  aunt  and  I  have  each  five  hundred  a  year,  mine  will 
go  to  you  when  I  die.  Stella  seems  to  do  much  more  with 
her  money  than  I  can,  but  then  Stella,  for  all  her  seem- 
ing frivolity,  is  wonderfully  practical  and  clever.  But 
why  are  you  asking  ?  Will  you  not  let  me  see  into  your 
plans  ?  What  have  you  in  your  mind  ?  " 

"Do  you  make  a  lot  of  money  by  your  books,  mater? 
Of  course  I  should  be  able  to  write,  any  fellow  can  earn 
money  that  way,  I  suppose?" 

She  smiled  at  that. 

"No!  I  do  not  think  I  make  what  you  would  call  a 
great  deal  of  money." 

"A  good  income  ?  "  he  persisted. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  make,  I  never  go  into  it.  When 
my  publisher  sends  me  a  cheque,  I  generally  buy  some- 


SEBASTIAN  49 

thing  unnecessary,  china,  prints,  or  ivories ;  I  suppose  it 
comes  to  a  good  deal,  one  way  or  another.  I  used  to  offer 
the  cheques  to  your  father ;  he  never  wished  them  to  be 
applied  to  household  purposes.  But  why  this  sudden  in- 
terest in  so  strange  a  subject?" 

"Well,  it  is  difficult  to  form  my  plans  without  knowing 
if  I  am  justified  in  leading  a  comparatively  selfish  life  for 
a  few  years." 

At  some  length  Sebastian  then  proceeded  to  tell  his 
mother  all  over  again  why  he  had  decided  to  leave 
Eton,  and  why  he  refused  to  consider  the  idea  of  going 
on  to  the  'Varsity.  He  dwelt  again  on  the  barren  years 
he  had  wasted  in  trying  for  valueless  scholastic  prizes, 
letting  the  intellect,  on  which  he  prided  himself,  lie 
fallow,  whilst  he  associated  with  schoolboys  and  school- 
masters, all  of  whom  he  found  narrow,  self-absorbed,  and 
unresponsive.  He  must  gain  experience.  He  admitted, 
he  rather  more  than  admitted,  he  laboured  the  point,  that 
he  had  an  idea  in  his  head,  but  he  did  not  wish  to  mention 
it  as  yet.  She  longed  for  his  complete  confidence,  but 
would  not  press  him  for  it.  Listening  to  him,  it  became 
more  and  more  definite  to  her  that  his  school-days  were 
inevitably  over.  Young  as  he  was  in  his  expressions,  in 
his  undeveloped  reasoning  power,  yet  he  was  no  longer 
malleable.  Nor  could  she  conscientiously  press  him  to 
remain  in  subservience  to  an  authority  which  he  no  longer 
respected. 

Sebastian's  school-days  were  over.  They  had  been  one 
long  series  of  triumphs,  one  great  gift  to  her. 

They  were  not  a  caressing  mother  and  son,  but  she 
put  her  hand  on  his  arm. 


50  SEBASTIAN 

"I  won't  balk  you,  Sebastian,  I  won't  stand  between 
you  and  your  needs.  If  you  want  to  leave,  you  must 

leave,  but "  her  eyes  softened,  "but  don't  let  it 

alter  things  between  us  two.  You  will  not  be  a  school- 
boy any  more,  but  you  will  want  me  just  the  same,  won't 
you  ?  We  shall  be  in  sympathy  just  the  same  ?  " 

He  was  embarrassed  by  her  half  caress,  by  the  hand  on 
his  arm,  the  intimacy  between  them  had  been  reached 
without  demonstration. 

"That's  all  right,  I  knew  I  should  be  able  to  make  you 
listen  to  reason.  I  have  not  got  the  whole  thing  cut  and 
dried  yet,  but  I  must  have  six  months  in  Paris  to  start 
with,  and  I  should  like  at  least  as  long  in  Germany,  Spain 
and  Italy.  It  is  absurd  to  know  only  one  language,  one 
hates  to  feel  at  a  disadvantage  with  anybody,  but  of 
course,  it  won't  take  me  long  to  pick  them  up ;  that  sort 
of  thing  comes  easy  to  me." 

"Then  your  Latin  and  Greek  has  not  been  wasted. 
They  will  help  you  there?"  She  was  pathetically  eager 
to  justify  the  education  she  had  thrust  upon  him. 

"Oh  yes,  I  daresay.  But  don't  run  away  with  the 
notion  that  I'm  going  to  spend  the  next  few  years  only 
in  learning  languages;  they  are  simply  an  incident.  I 
don't  want  to  tell  you  what  I've  got  in  my  mind  just  yet, 
nor  the  way  I  intend  to  get  there." 

A  colour  had  come  into  his  face,  patchy,  uneven;  his 
words  were  a  little  hurried,  as  if  his  breath  came  too 
quickly.  Whatever  ambition  he  envisaged,  whatever 
goal  he  dimly  saw,  had  obviously  the  power  to  move  him, 
and  it  moved  her  to  a  sympathetic  thrill  and  silence. 
His  way  must  be  left  clear  for  him. 


SEBASTIAN  51 

In  the  train,  on  the  way  home,  she  thought  over  all 
that  had  occurred.  Her  belief  in  the  boy  was  absolute, 
and  what  he  desired  must  be  granted  him,  of  that  there 
could  be  no  doubt.  She  must  break  the  news  to  the 
boy's  father,  she  must  go  through  the  farce  of  consulting 
David.  The  end  of  the  week  would  see  her  husband  back 
in  Harley  Street,  and  she  would  tell  him  that  she  had 
decided  to  let  Sebastian  go  abroad  for  a  year  or  two 
before  he  went  to  Oxford.  That  was  the  euphemism 
with  which  she  intended  to  cloak  the  affair.  But  she 
hoped,  she  still  hoped,  that  after  these  wandering  years, 
Sebastian  might  take  up  the  thread  of  those  studies  he 
now  despised. 

It  vexed  her  to  think,  to  remember,  that  she  must  con- 
sult her  husband.  David  Kendall  had  a  thousand 
virtues,  but  few  of  them  appealed  to  her.  He  had,  how- 
ever, half  a  score  of  habits  that  were  as  blisters  to  her 
social  nerves.  She  was  only  free  from  irritation  when  she 
was  not  in  his  company.  She  had  never  had  a  day's 
illness,  and  her  constitution  was  practically  perfect,  yet 
a  neuralgia  of  the  conscience,  physical  in  its  effect,  was 
what  her  husband  stood  for  in  the  limited  ange  of  her 
emotions.  She  had  resented  the  marriage  state  from  the 
moment  she  had  realised  it,  it  was  only  her  innate  con- 
scientiousness, and  honesty,  that  had  compelled  her  to 
preserve  its  semblance. 

But  never,  not  until  the  very  end,  did  she  see,  or  under- 
stand, David  Kendall's  tender,  comprehending,  daily, 
and  hourly  effort  that  the  chain  should  chafe  only,  and 
not  gall.  Those  awkward  hands  of  his  were  for  ever 
tremulous  in  the  effort  to  lift  the  fetters  from  eating  into 
her  flesh. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IT  was  not  strange  that  these  daughters  of  the  great 
stylist  had  mismanaged  their  marriages. 

John  Hepplewight-Ventom  had  kept  his  twin  girls 
on  the  Continent  during  all  their  childhood.  Their 
mother  had  died  in  giving  them  birth,  and  with  her,  too, 
died  all  that  was  young,  and  human,  and  natural,  in 
John  Ventom.  The  children  seemed  no  part  of  her,  or  of 
him ;  a  cruel  accident,  a  burden,  where  had  been  a  bless- 
ing. But  he  was  always  an  honourable  man,  and  he 
accepted  his  responsibilities.  Relations  in  England 
approached  him  with  kindness,  with  offers  of  adoption, 
but  he  kept  the  little  ones  by  him.  They  were  to  be 
found,  now  in  convent  schools  near  Paris,  now  with 
governesses  and  tutors  in  Rome,  Vienna,  Brussels,  or 
Florence,  wherever  his  humour  took  him.  He  grew, 
with  their  growth,  into  a  vague,  superficial  intimacy  with 
them,  and  whenever  no  new  work  absorbed  him,  he  found 
pleasure  in  their  society,  in  their  intelligence  and  grace. 
He  had  been  occasionally  interested  in  their  likeness, 
and  unlikeness,  to  him  and  to  each  other,  in  the  philology 
of  them,  as  it  were. 

But  of  the  world,  and  its  ways,  of  men  and  women,  he 
taught  them  nothing,  and  they  had  learnt  nothing,  when 
at  seventeen,  they  came  to  England  for  the  first  time. 

The  Honourable  John  Ashton  was  their  great  mis- 

52 


SEBASTIAN  53 

fortune.  He  met  them  in  Venice,  and  achieved  an 
introduction.  Their  homeward  journey  was  very  dila- 
tory and  circuitous.  The  dissolute  young  attach6  had 
ample  opportunity  for  his  wooing.  Hepplewight-Ventom 
had  just  begun  to  realise  that  Vanessa  was  intellectually 
nearer  akin  to  him  than  her  sister.  With  the  selfishness 
of  genius  in  pursuit  of  an  idea,  he  absorbed  whatever  he 
found  of  value.  His  then  idea,  and  his  whole  mental 
horizon  was  bounded  by  it,  was  a  monograph  on  early 
Italian  missal  paper.  Vanessa's  sympathetic  intelli- 
gence, young  eyes,  and  enthusiasm  were  in  constant  re- 
quest for  the  consideration  and  differentiation  of  speci- 
mens. Stella  was  admittedly  bored  with  such  things. 
Vanessa  was  then,  and  remained  always,  unobservant  of 
what  held  the  attention  of  other  girls  or  women.  She 
lived  ever  most  vividly  and  intensely  in  her  imagination ; 
the  monograph  on  fifteenth-century  paper  possessed  her 
entirely  for  the  moment,  she  was  inordinately  proud  that 
her  distinguished  father  should  take  her  into  his  literary 
confidence. 

Stella  had  definitely  engaged  herself  to  Jack  Ashton 
before  father  or  sister  realised  that  they  had  been  living 
in  an  atmosphere  of  impetuous  young  love-making.  And 
then  it  was  too  late  to  interfere.  But  it  was  unlikely  the 
young  couple  would  have  had  serious  opposition  to 
encounter.  John  Hepplewight-Ventom  believed  in  the 
liberty  of  the  individual,  and  he  knew  nothing,  for  or 
against,  Jack  Ashton.  The  engagement  was  of  little 
importance  in  comparison  with  the  monograph. 

Before  Vanessa  had  time  to  grow  jealous  of  Jack's 
monopoly  of  Stella's  time,  or  interrogative  of  his  desire, 


54  SEBASTIAN 

or  capacity,  to  make  Stella's  happiness,  they  were  in 
London,  and  David  Kendall,  of  Messrs.  P.  and  A.  Kendall 
and  Co.,  owner  of  the  Kendall  Paper  Mills,  appeared  on  the 
scene. 

John  Hepplewight-Ventom  made  David's  life  a  burden 
to  him,  whilst  he  was  endeavouring  to  reproduce  fifteenth- 
century  Italian  paper.  Vanessa  and  her  father  spent  days 
at  the  mills,  and  David  discussed  material,  for  hours,  with 
them  in  London.  Experiments  were  made  with  every 
description  of  recognised  pulp,  English,  Irish,  and  Con- 
tinental. There  were  old  blue  linen  rags  from  Fra  ce, 
wood  pulp  from  Norway,  curious  reeds  from  China, 
esparto  from  South  America,  and  pampas  grass  from 
Canada.  The  wire  frame,  specially  made  with  the 
Ventom  hieroglyphic,  was  dipped  into  every  imaginable 
mixture  before  the  great  faddist  was  satisfied. 

Poor  David  fell  humbly  hi  love  with  the  bright- 
eyed,  graceful  girl  who  was  as  keen  as  her  father  on 
texture,  colour,  and  printing  possibilities. 

Everybody  knows  what  happened.  The  monograph 
for  which  the  experiments  were  being  made  was  never 
completed,  the  "limited  edition"  went  no  further  than 
the  prospectus  stage.  The  years  in  Italy  had  left  the 
idealist  in  no  condition  to  brave  an  English  spring; 
he  caught  a  cold  and  disregarded  it,  the  cold  became  a 
fever  and  was  still  ignored.  Before  the  gravity  of  the 
case  was  diagnosed,  the  danger  signal  of  that  first 
haemorrhage  had  been  hoisted.  And  it  was  never  again 
lowered.  John  Hepplewight-Ventom  passed  from  one 
rarefied  atmosphere  to  another,  one  may  hope  more 
rarefied. 


SEBASTIAN  55 

There  was  no  member  of  his  family  now  ready  to  offer 
a  home  to  his  suddenly  orphaned  girls;  they  were 
practically  without  kin,  and  their  trustees  indifferent. 
Jack  Ashton  pressed  for  an  immediate  marriage.  In  a 
strange  interview  with  Vanessa,  immediately  after  the 
funeral,  a  so-called  business  interview,  about  the  now 
useless  sheets,  David  Kendall,  moved  by  unmeasurable 
pity,  an  almost  insane  desire  to  be  of  use,  in  an  agony  of 
modesty  and  apprehension,  put  forth  a  timid  suit.  Stella, 
coming  in  inopportunely,  strengthened  him  to  urge  it. 

What  would  Stella  do  without  Vanessa?  Vanessa 
had  talked  wildly  of  returning  to  Italy,  of  taking  up  her 
father's  work;  she  was  bewildered,  weakened,  by  the 
suddenness  of  her  bereavement.  Stella  begged  her  not 
to  go  away,  not  to  leave  her  alone,  she  knew  no  husband 
could  replace  her  sister;  perhaps,  already,  she  doubted 
the  wisdom  of  her  choice.  It  was  what  they  had  always 
planned;  to  marry  on  the  same  day,  to  live  in  England, 
as  near  as  possible  to  each  other.  There  was  no  other 
way  to  fill  the  blank  caused  by  their  father's  death. 

There  was  argument,  and  misgiving,  but  Stella's  af- 
fectionate pleading  prevailed,  and  on  the  same  day  that 
Stella  culminated  her  love  affair  with  Jack  Ashton, 
Vanessa  married  David  Kendall,  to  their  mutual  be- 
wilderment and  misfortune. 

He  knew,  from  the  very  beginning,  that  he  had  married 
above  him.  Socially,  intellectually,  physically,  he  saw, 
with  painful  accuracy  of  vision,  the  superiority  of  his 
young  wife.  What  he  had  expected  when  he  secured  the 
treasure  it  is  difficult  to  realise;  what  he  received  was 
easy  to  see.  His  genuine  humility  of  spirit,  his  complete 


56  SEBASTIAN 

unselfishness,  his  overwhelming  desire  for  her  happiness, 
were  all  obscured  in  her  eyes  in  the  early  days,  by  his 
obnoxious  claim  upon  her.  Had  not  Ventom's  death 
made  Vanessa  homeless,  and  threatened  Stella  with 
loneliness,  the  marriage  could  never  have  taken  place. 
It  was  only  Vanessa's  unbalanced  grief  for  her  father, 
her  almost  equally  unbalanced  love  for  Stella,  that 
blinded  her,  for  a  desperate  hour,  to  David's  and  her 
own  incongruity.  To  her  he  was  ever  the  typical  trades- 
man, awkward  in  a  drawing-room,  a  trifle  servile,  of  no 
importance. 

Because  Stella,  at  seventeen,  had  fallen  in  love  with 
Jack  Ashton,  Vanessa  had  taken  this  husband  whose 
entire  outlook  upon  the  world  was  as  a  blank  wall  to  her. 

Vanessa  was  unconscious,  and  in  her  youthful  hardness, 
incapable,  of  realising  how  greatly  her  incongruous  hus- 
band loved  and  admired  her.  She  resented  marriage 
intemperately,  it  had  no  meaning  for  her;  between 
herself  and  David  Kendall  the  word  held  no  holiness  of 
meaning.  It  was  the  man  who  recognised  it,  and  early 
made  his  renunciation,  as  an  offering  at  the  shrine  of 
his  love. 

The  first  year  had  been  difficult,  but  for  the  advent 
of  Sebastian  it  might  have  proved  impossible.  But 
David  Kendall  was  extraordinarily  moved  by  his  new 
dignity  of  fatherhood,  accepting  it  in  the  lowliest  of 
spirit,  striving  for  worthiness  of  his  responsibility,  be- 
coming, if  possible,  more  utterly  selfless.  Soon  after 
the  birth  of  her  son,  Vanessa  discovered  that  literature 
was  her  metier;  she  wrote  her  first  novel,  and  made  a 
small  sensation  with  it,  a  sensation,  and  a  success,  that 


SEBASTIAN  57 

both  of  them  overestimated.  But  it  proved  the  end  of  any 
possibility  of  her  acceptance  of  ordinary  domestic  life. 

In  the  very  earliest  days  of  his  marriage,  David  had 
stood  aside  so  that  the  sisters  should  not  think  of  him 
as  of  a  barrier  between  them.  He  stood  aside  later, 
that  his  wife  should  feel  him  to  be  no  interruption  to  her 
literary  life.  It  was  impressed  upon  him  presently,  that 
his  son  was  the  grandson  of  John  Hepplewight-Ventom, 
and  he  let  his  own  slighted  paternity  remain  in  the 
background. 

He  grew  to  understand  his  young  wife  so  well,  and 
to  love  her  so  greatly,  notwithstanding,  or  perhaps 
through,  his  complete  comprehension,  that  he  could 
never  forgive  himself  for  having  married  her,  nor  palliate 
his  offence.  His  love  and  loyalty  were  never  shaken 
by  her  attitude  toward  him.  But  his  self-esteem  was 
bruised  and  wounded;  under  her  critical  young  eyes 
he  grew  yearly  more  awkward,  incongruous,  less  possibly 
her  husband. 

He  arrived  in  Harley  Street  a  few  days  after  Sebastian 
had  given  in  his  ultimatum  about  Eton,  after  a  week  of 
thought  and  toil,  of  the  busy  booking,  and  rapid  execu- 
tion of  orders,  of  telegrams  to  and  from  his  firm,  calcu- 
lations of  freights  and  prices,  of  all  the  minutiae  that 
spell  successful  business.  He  returned  home  to  an 
empty  house,  to  a  chill  unwelcome,  and  the  dreariness 
of  its  disregard.  But  he  resented  nothing.  He  made 
no  claim  for  appreciation,  consideration,  or  compre- 
hension. It  was  only  as  a  firm  that  David  Kendall  still 
asked  for  recognition.  As  an  entity  he  had  a  complete 
humility  of  spirit.  But  he  was  "our  Mr.  David,"  he 


58  SEBASTIAN 

was  David  Kendall  of  Messrs.  P.  and  A.  Kendall  and  Co., 
the  firm  that  had  been  established  over  one  hundred 
years  hi  the  City  of  London,  and  never  had  a  question 
raised  as  to  its  credit.  He  was  proud  of  that,  pathetically 
proud,  it  stood  to  him  for  patriotism  and  religion,  in 
place  of  home  and  happiness,  he  clung  to  it  as  mystics 
to  their  symbols. 

His  pride  in  the  business  that  his  grandfather  had 
created  was  utterly  beyond  the  sympathy,  or  compre- 
hension, of  the  daughter  of  John  Hepplewight-Ventom. 
It  was  a  small  business,  a  limited  business;  there  was 
no  possibility  of  millions  in  it,  not  even  of  hundreds  of 
thousands,  it  was,  at  the  best,  a  five  or  six  thousand  a 
year  affair,  steady  and  unexciting.  David  Kendall 
knew  that  his  wife  had  a  vague  additional  contempt 
for  him,  because  he  was  proud  of  that  small  solid  busi- 
ness. Vanessa  was  naturally  frank,  and  David  instinc- 
tively reticent.  She  tried  to  conceal  her  feelings,  she  never 
wished  to  hurt  him;  that  she  did  so  constantly,  con- 
tinuously, even  fatally,  was  the  secret  he  guarded  from 
her  always. 

He  came  home  this  Saturday  and  mounted  the  three 
flights  of  stairs  that  led  to  his  bedroom.  He  sat  down 
to  recover  himself,  for  his  breath  came  quickly ;  somehow 
or  other,  although  he  was  but  a  little  past  fifty,  he  felt 
like  an  old  man.  He  had  gained  weight  rapidly  lately, 
and  the  stairs  tried  him.  He  had  to  remove  his  travel 
stains,  unpack, .  transcribe  his  notes,  put  his  papers  in 
order,  but  first  he  rested.  He  did  not  disguise  from 
himself  that  each  time  he  came  home  from  these  busi- 
ness journeys,  which  he  took  regularly  four  times  a 


SEBASTIAN  59 

year,  he  returned  more  weary,  more  consciously  fatigued. 
Although  he  was  only  fifty-one,  he  felt  to-day  that  he 
was  almost  worked  out.  And  a  pain,  at  the  back  of 
his  mind,  that  added  bitterness  to  his  over-fatigue, 
was  belief  that  he  ought  to  let  his  partners  know  he  was 
no  longer  able  to  do  them,  nor  the  affairs  of  the  firm,  full 
justice.  He  dreaded  to  tell  them,  he  had  had  the  fatigue 
and  doubt  before,  but  he  had  put  off  telling  them,  for 
he  could  not  contemplate  life  without  P.  and  A.  Rendall. 
He  had  always  travelled  for  the  firm,  both  in  town,  and 
in  the  provinces,  and  if  he  were  not  fit  to  travel.  .  .  . 

To-day  the  stairs  had  tried  him  more  than  ever  be- 
fore, his  breathing  was  more  difficult,  he  had  pins  and 
needles  round  his  heart  when  he  reached  his  room.  A 
"little inconvenience"  he  called  it  to  himself,  but  never- 
theless it  terrified  him.  It  terrified  him  because,  once 
or  twice  before,  the  pricking  sensation,  the  pins  and 
needles,  had,  as  it  were,  gathered  themselves  together, 
in  a  sort  of  cramp.  He  bore  pain  well,  but  this  pain  was 
almost  unbearable;  it  made  him  helpless,  and,  not  for 
his  own  sake,  he  feared  helplessness. 

Vanessa,  with  her  fine  health,  and  strong  brain,  and 
clear,  sane  outlook,  shrank  from  weakness  and  help- 
lessness; she  felt  them  as  a  degradation,  something  of 
which  to  be  ashamed.  He  knew  that,  for  Vanessa  was 
very  open  about  her  likes  and  dislikes,  there  was  no 
subtlety  nor  disguise,  about  her.  It  was  only  Stella 
to  whom  she  accorded  her  suffrages  in  illness.  Stella's 
unmistakable  delicacy  hurt  Vanessa,  got  beneath  the 
surface  of  her  hardness,  and  made  her  uncomfortable. 
She  met  her  trouble  by  denying  its  existence,  for  that 
was  her  way. 


60  SEBASTIAN 

David  concealed  his  illness,  whenever  possible;  for 
he  knew  how  it  was  with  her.  He  was  sorry,  for  her 
sake,  that  he  felt  out  of  health  and  feeble.  He  looked 
round  his  room  now  that  he  had  managed  to  get  up 
there.  It  was  bare,  and  chill,  and  sparsely  furnished. 
Vanessa  liked  colour  and  drapery  and  ornamentation; 
her  own  rooms  were  luxurious.  He  thought  how  she 
would  hate  to  climb  up  here,  and  sit  with  him  if  he  were 
to  have  another  illness.  She  would  do  it,  she  ever  strove 
to  fulfil  her  duties  toward  him,  he  saw  and  appreciated 
her  struggle.  She  would  come  up  here,  and  help  to 
nurse  him,  but  she  would  do  it  with  a  sense  of  impatience, 
luminous  to  him  behind  the  cloak  of  her  kind  words  and 
service.  She  would  never  suspect  that  David  saw  the 
impatience  behind  the  words.  Because  David  said  so 
little,  she  always  thought  David  saw  little.  But,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  he  saw  everything,  as  God  may  see  our 
human  struggle,  with  infinite  pity  and  forgiveness. 

David  had  never  been  a  strong  man  since  he  had  had 
typhoid,  he  knew  exactly  what  Vanessa  would  do  if  he 
became  ill.  She  would  get  in  nurses,  and  superintend 
them,  and  twice,  or  even  three  times,  a  day  she  would 
come  into  his  room,  and  enquire  how  he  felt.  She 
would  sit  with  him  when  the  nurses  were  at  their  meals, 
trying  to  find  subjects  of  conversation.  She  would 
read  to  him.  But  even  there  their  tastes  were  diametri- 
cally opposed.  Outside  P.  and  A.  Kendall,  and  the 
paper  trade,  it  was  only  science  that  interested  David. 
Vanessa's  mind  was  essentially  unscientific,  yet  she  read 
Huxley  or  Tyndal  to  him,  conscientiously. 

She  would  question  him  as  to  his  symptoms,  insisting 


SEBASTIAN  61 

always  that  he  was  getting  better.  He  would  answer 
her  gratefully,  reassuringly.  After  her  task  was  over 
she  would  go  away,  trying  not  to  resent  that  he  made 
this  dumb  claim  upon  her. 

In  the  years  Sebastian  spent  at  school,  Vanessa's  moral 
growth  had  stopped.  She  had  become,  always  more 
definitely,  an  imaginative  phrase-maker.  She  felt  that 
her  life  lay  in  her  library,  bending  over  her  desk,  pen  in 
hand,  outside  affairs.  She  created  epigrammatists,  the 
real  men  and  women  she  met,  were  too  coarsely  human; 
they  had  not  sufficient  ideality  for  her.  When  she  was 
not  writing,  she  found  toys  to  play  with;  anything  was 
better  than  crude  humanity.  Her  toys  were  needlework 
pictures,  she  copied  them  exquisitely,  prints  and  china, 
ivories,  and  jade.  She  preferred  them  to  everything 
save  Stella  and  Sebastian.  She  ought  never  to  have 
married.  David  heard  her  say  this  often,  and  she  never 
noticed  that  he  winced  whenever  she  said  it. 

Alone  in  that  big,  bare  room,  this  afternoon,  with  the 
pricking  sensation  round  his  heart,  and  some  little  fore- 
sight of  what  it  meant,  David  could  feel,  through  his 
fear  and  pain,  a  little  hopeful,  for  Vanessa,  that  some  day 
she  would  be  free  from  this  burden  of  matrimony.  He 
found  no  fault  with  her,  with  her  view  of  life  and  its 
responsibilities.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  her  youth, 
ignorance  of  the  world,  of  her  sudden  orphanhood,  to 
force  his  suit  upon  her.  She  was  never  like  other  girls. 
No  man  had  come  into  her  life  to  make  him  jealous, 
all  she  knew  of  love  was  her  feeling  for  Stella.  It  was 
her  ambition,  only,  that  the  boy  materialised,  Sebastian 
had  not  required  tenderness  from  her;  although  his 


62  SEBASTIAN 

days  had  not  lacked  tenderness.  As  yet,  it  seemed,  he 
was  his  mother's  son,  neither  of  them  quite  ripe  in  the 
sun. 

David,  finishing  his  notes  slowly,  his  dressing  yet 
more  slowly,  avoiding,  however,  that  climax  of  pain  that 
he  dreaded,  thought,  as  ever,  very  lovingly,  of  Vanessa's 
peculiarities.  She  was  straightforward  and  honest,  this 
one  partner  of  his  who  did  not  value  him,  she  was  beauti- 
ful, brilliant,  famous.  How  should  she  feel  interest  in  a 
middle-aged  business  man,  tired,  awkward,  dull ! 

The  drawing-room,  where  he  waited  for  her  later  on, 
was  an  environment  in  which  David  never  felt  himself 
at  home.  He  had  a  knack,  or  habit,  of  stumbling  over 
anything  that  was  in  his  way,  and  in  Vanessa's  drawing- 
room  everything  was  in  his  way ;  lac  screens,  footstools, 
and  Chinese  seats,  Japanese  dwarf  trees  in  blue  and 
white  dishes,  small  tables  overladen  with  jade,  with 
famille  verte  vases,  and  famille  rose  plates.  All  these 
things  David  Kendall  dreaded;  more  than  once  he  had 
done  irreparable  injury  to  irreplaceable  treasure.  He 
was  out  of  place  in  his  wife's  drawing-room,  he  always 
felt  it;  the  very  fact  that  he  felt  it  so  acutely,  accen- 
tuated it. 

It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  when  Vanessa  came  home. 

"Oh,  you  are  there,"  she  said,  opening  the  drawing- 
room  door,  hurriedly.  "I  am  sorry  I  am  so  late.  I 
have  been  at  a  matinee,  and  afterwards  to  tea  with  the 
Robinsons,  practically  a  suffrage  meeting,  with  many 
dissentients.  I  will  be  ready  in  ten  minutes.  Are  you 
all  right?" 

She  was  too  anxious  about  the  dinner  hour  to  wait 


SEBASTIAN  63 

for  an  answer.  It  was  not  a  figure  of  speech;  the  re- 
gret that  she  was  late  on  the  evening  of  David's  return 
to  London  was  quite  genuine. 

She  hurried  over  her  dressing,  hurried  down  to  dinner, 
determining  to  compensate  him  in  some  way  for  her 
tardiness,  to  make  the  evening  pleasant,  to  talk  to  him. 

But  it  was  always  an  effort  to  Vanessa  to  know  what 
to  say  to  David,  and  this  occasion  proved  no  different 
from  any  other.  He  knew  that  so  well,  he  would  have 
helped  her,  had  he  been  able.  But  subjects  between 
them  were  limited,  mutual  interests  they  had  but  one. 

Over  the  soup  she  asked  him, 

"Did  you  have  a  good  journey?" 

"Fairly  well,  as  things  go.  There's  nothing  much 
doing  just  now,  the  paper  trade  is  dull." 

"What  a  pity!  But  anyway,  it  is  a  change  for  you, 
getting  away  from  London,  interviewing  a  different  set 
of  people." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there's  something  in  that :  and  tell  me,  how 
have  you  been  getting  on?  What  is  the  news  here?" 

"  Nothing  very  new,  I  have  been  working  all  the  week, 
and  Stella  has  absorbed  most  of  my  afternoons.  There 
were  three  first  nights,  but  no  good  play." 

"That  must  have  been  very  disappointing." 

They  relapsed  into  silence  until  the  next  course  ap- 
peared. 

"And  what  is  the  matter  with  Stella?"  David  asked 
then.  "I  am  sorry  to  hear  she  has  been  ill  again." 

"Dr.  Gifford  calls  it  influenza.  I  have  been  there  a 
good  deal;  in  fact,  I  think  if  you  do  not  mind  I  will  go 
to  her  this  evening.  Do  you  mind?" 


64  SEBASTIAN 

"Oh,  of  course  not,  if  she  is  not  well,  you  must  not 
leave  her  alone." 

For  what  did  the  prospect  of  a  solitary  evening  matter 
to  him,  whose  life  was  solitary  ? 

Glancing  at  him  across  the  flower-laden  dinner  table, 
the  thought  of  his  loneliness  may  have  struck  her,  for 
she  said,  as  if  to  find  occupation  for  that  dull  evening 
of  his, 

"You  have  not  read  the  paper,  yet." 

"Yes,  I  did,  in  the  train,  coming  up.  But  it  doesn't 
matter,  don't  mind  me;  I  am  not  feeling  up  to  much 
this  evening,  I  shall  probably  go  to  bed  early." 

The  dinner  dragged  on. 

"Sebastian  wants  to  leave  Eton,"  she  announced, 
abruptly,  when  the  servants  had  withdrawn. 

"Yes,  I  know.    He  wrote  to  me  to  Manchester." 

"Why  did  he  write  to  you?  What  did  he  say?"  she 
asked,  quickly. 

"I  have  got  the  letter  somewhere." 

It  was  a  way  he  had,  to  forget  where  he  put  things, 
one  of  his  many  ways  that  irritated  her.  He  felt  in  all 
his  pockets  now,  wondered  whether  he  had  dropped  it 
anywhere,  was  flustered  at  her  obvious  impatience,  yet 
sympathised  with  it. 

"No,  I  believe,  after  all,  I  must  have  left  it  upstairs." 

"You  might  have  known  I  should  want  to  see  it," 
she  exclaimed,  impatiently. 

"But  you  saw  him  recently;  you  spent  a  whole  day 
with  him!" 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference,  I  like  to  see  what 
he  writes  to  you." 


SEBASTIAN  65 

"He  was  quite  well,  I  suppose?" 

"Oh,  of  course  he  was  well,  quite  well,  he  always  is, 
he  inherits  my  constitution.  But  what  was  in  the  letter  ? 
What  made  him  write  to  you  at  all?" 

He  got  up : 

"I  will  go  and  fetch  it." 

She  could  not  but  note  the  slowness  of  his  movement, 
the  almost  unwillingness. 

"Let  John  fetch  it,"  she  said,  much  more  gently. 
It  was  not  that  she  was  deficient  in  heart,  it  was  only  that 
David  had  ever  abstained  from  making  appeal  to  it,  and 
that  it  was  not  yet  full  grown,  a  little  atrophied  for  want 
of  use. 

"Oh,  no,  he  would  not  be  able  to  find  it,  I  don't  quite 
know  what  I  did  with  it." 

"You  never  do  know  what  you  do  with  anything," 
she  murmured.  She  had  not  meant  him  to  hear,  but 
he  heard. 

He  looked  grey  when  he  came  down  with  the  letter, 
his  lips  colourless. 

"Dear  Pupsie,"  the  boy  had  written,  in  his  irregular 
schoolboy's  hand,  "  I  am  seeing  the  mater  on  Wednesday, 
so  she  will  be  able  to  tell  you  all  my  news  when  you  come 
back;  this  is  only  just  to  cheer  you  on  your  beastly 
business  journey.  I'm  sorry  things  are  not  as  brisk  as 
you  would  like  them  to  be.  I  knew  you  had  the  hump 
at  half-term.  I  hope  you've  sold  stacks,  and  got  cheery 
since  then.  You  must  come  down  for  the  Fourth,  there 
are  lots  of  things  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about.  I  am 
going  to  leave,  for  one  thing ! ! ! ! 

"Sparkes  got    the  Harvey.     Poor  beggar!  I  don't 


66  SEBASTIAN 

grudge  it  him,  his  people  think  he's  a  genius,  and  they 
may  as  well  remain  of  that  opinion  whilst  he's  here.  Can 
I  have  a  couple  of  change  suits  and  a  proper  shooting- 
coat?  It  will  save  a  lot  of  time  if  I  get  my  things  at 
Brown's.  I  want  a  new  dress-suit,  too.  I  hope  you 
don't  think  I'm  very  extravagant.  By  the  way,  I  used 
a  lot  of  paper  over  my  Harvey  poem,  so  I  suppose  we  got 
something  out  of  it  after  all.  I  was  sick  about  it  at 
first,  but  I  don't  care  much  now,  it  was  rather  footle  any- 
way, though  the  mater  thought  a  lot  of  it.  Buck  up, 

"So  long, 
"Always  loving  son,  S.  R." 

Vanessa  had  no  pleasure  out  of  the  letter.  Nobody 
else  would  have -called  it  a  sentimental  letter,  but  to 
Vanessa  it  read  in  this  way. 

"It  is  such  a  pity  you  allow  yourself  to  be  depressed 
when  you  are  with  Sebastian,  it  is  very  bad  for  him. 
He  asked  me  if  we  could  afford  to  let  him  go  abroad  for 
a  year  or  two  !  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  let  him  know 
when  business  is  bad.  I  suppose  all  businesses  are  bad, 
at  times.  Stella  tells  me  her  dressmaker  was  complain- 
ing just  in  the  same  way.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if 
it  were  that  talk  of  yours  about  bad  times  that  has 
induced  Sebastian  to  give  up  trying  for  the  Newcastle, 
insist  on  leaving  Eton,  and  not  going  up  to  Oxford." 

"What's  that?"  said  David,  surprised  for  once  out  of 
silence. 

"Sebastian  does  not  want  to  go  on  to  Oxford."  Her 
heart  sank  as  she  said  it ;  it  seemed  the  end  of  all  things. 

There  was  a  pale  dawn  of  hope,  of  relief,  in  David's 
dull  eyes ;  as  if  of  light  on  a  dark  horizon. 


SEBASTIAN  67 

"He  is  seventeen.  I  was  in  the  office  when  I  was 
fifteen." 

"You!"  she  said,  quickly,  and  then  checked  herself. 
She  must  not  tell  her  husband  that  he  could  not  compare 
himself  with  Sebastian.  "Sebastian  has  such  excep- 
tional gifts,"  she  added,  almost  apologetically. 

David  admitted  there  was  little  analogy.  Sebas- 
tian's scholastic  capacities  were  out  of  the  common,  and 
his  had  been  but  ordinary.  But  Sebastian  had  other 
qualities,  qualities  of  which  David  knew  more  than 
Vanessa. 

"What  does  he  want  to  do?" 

"He  wants  to  go  abroad  for  a  year  or  two,  to  study 
modern  languages.  I  don't  quite  know  his  plans." 

She  was  already  sorry  she  had  been  impatient  over 
the  letter,  that  David  should  have  had  to  mount  to  the 
top  of  the  house  for  it. 

"That  is  why  I  was  so  anxious  to  see  his  letter.  I 
thought  he  might  have  given  you  some  hint,  some  clue." 

He  solaced  her  pride. 

"It  is  not  likely  he  would  have  told  me  anything  he 
had  kept  from  you." 

"No,"  she  answered.  "No,  of  course  not.  But  I  am 
very  anxious." 

She  tried  to  talk  to  him  about  Sebastian,  but  David 
was  unfortunate  in  saying  he  was  not  sure  that  Eton  had 
ever  been  Sebastian's  proper  environment.  Vanessa 
could  not  bear  criticism  from  David,  and  it  was  she  who 
had  selected  Sebastian's  school.  She  tried  not  to  show 
her  irritation,  but  it  was  a  complete  failure.  David 
saw  her  effort,  and  the  difficulty  she  had,  after  that,  in 
making  conversation. 


68  SEBASTIAN 

The  constraint  between  them  was  always  growing; 
Vanessa  could  not  be  natural,  or  at  ease,  with  her  hus- 
band; she  had  allowed  herself  first  to  despise,  then  to 
ignore,  finally,  to  be  sorry  for  him,  and  this  was  the 
worst  stage.  Her  conscience  was  never  clear  as  to  her 
conduct  toward  him,  yet  all  the  efforts  to  alter  it  resulted 
in  failure.  She  could  not  but  realise  his  qualities.  But 
her  eyes  were  critical  of  his  contours,  and  her  ears  were 
impatient  of  his  cough.  It  was  absurd  that  he  should 
deem  himself  qualified  to  judge  of  what  was  best  for 
Sebastian. 

Presently  he  suggested  that  if  she  were  going  to 
Weymouth  Street  it  was  time  to  start.  He  offered  to 
walk  round  with  her,  but  she  preferred  to  drive.  She 
hesitated  about  leaving  him  alone,  but  he  reassured  her, 
he  said  he  was  tired  from  the  journey,  he  would  soon  be 
going  to  bed. 

And,  indeed,  when  she  had  been  persuaded  that  he 
really  did  not  desire  her  to  stay  at  home  with  him,  she 
felt  glad. 

David,  when  he  was  alone  again,  dozed  over  his  cigar, 
for  half  an  hour,  in  the  easy-chair.  When  the  servants 
woke  him,  coming  in  to  clear  the  dinner  things  away, 
he  roused  himself  sufficiently  to  go,  very  slowly,  up  to 
bed. 

But  he  felt  happier  this  evening  than  he  had  for  some 
time.  Sebastian  was  leaving  Eton;  it  had  never  been 
the  right  place  for  him.  David's  compunction  for  having 
made  Vanessa  his  wife  prevented  him  opposing  her 
wishes.  But  he  knew  his  own  weakness,  and  his  con- 
science, even  more  sensitive  than  Vanessa's,  sometimes 
tortured  him  with  the  fear  lest  he  sacrifice  Sebastian  to  it. 


CHAPTER  V 

WHEN  Sebastian  came  home  at  the  end  of  the  summer 
half,  with  his  leaving  book,  a  presentation  volume  from 
his  tutor,  an  autographed,  slender  folio  of  indifferent 
poems  from  one  of  the  masters,  and  the  usual  quantum 
of  prizes,  he  had  only  a  few  days  at  home  before  him, 
for  he  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  Scotland  for  the 
12th,  from  a  school  friend. 

That  first  night  at  dinner  he  talked,  not  of  his  school 
triumphs,  for  to  them  he  had  always  been  indifferent, 
but  with  boyish  swagger,  about  grouse.  He  aired  some 
newly  acquired  information,  and  was  voluble  on  the 
subject  of  a  Harris  tweed  shooting-coat,  with  leather 
on  the  shoulders,  and  a  particular  make  of  pocket. 

His  mother  had  promised  him  a  gun,  and  this  gun, 
for  which  he  had  already  been  carefully  measured,  filled 
the  foreground  of  his  talk.  He  told  his  father,  inciden- 
tally, that  he  should  want  a  "pot  of  money"  for  travel- 
ling and  tips,  as  he  must  "do  the  thing  well." 

David  smiled  his  assent. 

"You  can  have  what  you  want,  of  course,"  he  said. 

But  before  the  evening  was  over,  somehow  or  other ; 
Sebastian's  spirits  had  sunk,  and  his  loquacity  faltered. 

David  announced  himself  as  "rather  tired,"  about 
ten  o'clock,  and  went  off  to  bed. 

69 


70  SEBASTIAN 

"  Doesn't  the  pater  look  seedy,  or  is  it  my  idea  ? " 
he  asked  his  mother,  when  they  were  alone. 

"Seedy?  does  he?  I  had  not  noticed,"  Vanessa 
answered,  indifferently. 

And  then  she  began  to  question  the  boy  on  his  future 
plans,  to  probe  quietly  for  his  confidence.  She  could  not 
pretend  to  undue  interest  in  David's  health,  with  Se- 
bastian to  hold  her.  She  was  glad  David's  short  cough 
was  no  longer  in  the  room.  It  checked  conversation, 
punctuating  it  in  the  wrong  places,  it  was  supremely 
irritating. 

The  next  day  was  Friday.  The  office  in  Queen  Vic- 
toria Street  was  closed  until  after  the  Bank  Holiday. 
David  said  it  was  a  treat  to  be  at  home,  to  have  nothing 
to  do.  He  walked  about  the  house,  restlessly.  Yet 
he  had  no  place  there,  no  hobby,  no  occupation !  The 
boy  sympathised  with  him. 

"It  must  be  a  fag,  going  every  day  to  the  same  place, 
at  the  same  time,  doing  the  same  thing." 

David  told  him  there  was  never  monotony  in  business, 
there  was  endless  variety.  He  grew  quite  animated 
talking  of  the  shifting  kaleidoscope  of  commerce,  of 
detail  and  organisation. 

"He  likes  talking  about  Queen  Victoria  Street," 
Sebastian  said,  almost  reproachfully,  to  Vanessa. 
"Why  did  you  interrupt  him?  It  is  very  interesting, 
I  like  hearing  about  it,  too." 

"I  thought  you  were  being  bored;  it  bores  me  un- 
utterably, to  hear  what  Hopkins  ordered,  or  Hayling 
sent  back." 

"It  is  his  whole  life." 


SEBASTIAN  71 

Before  the  end  of  that  three  days  Sebastian  found 
himself,  involuntarily,  watching  his  father,  jumping  up 
when  he  came  into  the  drawing-room,  insisting  on  his 
resting  on  easy-chair,  or  sofa.  With  some  gentle  sort 
of  roughness  he  began  ordering  his  father  about,  and 
"bullying  him"  as  he  put  it. 

"What  have  you  been  rushing  for,  pater?"  he  would 
ask,  when  the  quick  breathing  made  him  think  that 
David  had  been  hurrying.  "You  have  got  lots  of  time; 
you  have  got  all  the  time  that  is  !  What  is  the  good  of 
sprinting,  and  playing  you  are  a  two-year-old?  Take 
it  easy;  it's  weight  for  age,  you  know." 

"I'm  all  right,  don't  mind  me."  That  was  David's 
response,  it  had  become  a  mechanical  one  with  him. 

But,  nevertheless,  he  was  glad  of  the  young  arm; 
proud,  and  moved,  by  the  slangy,  indefinite  sympathy. 

If  that  Saturday  to  Monday  was  not  a  gay  time  for 
Sebastian,  David  at  least  had  some  happy  moments.  He 
would  obey  the  boy,  lie  down  on  sofa  or  easy-chair,  and 
watch  him  whilst  he  talked,  or  read,  or  lounged. 

Vanessa  was  little  at  home.  Stella  was  in  the  throes 
of  her  quarterly  attack  of  influenza.  She  considered 
herself  neglected  if  Vanessa  spent  less  than  half  the  day 
with  her.  Vanessa  felt  herself  justified  in  leaving  David, 
even  if  he  were  "rather  run  down, "since  she  was  leaving 
the  boy  with  him.  It  was  comparatively  a  free  time 
with  her.  "Persimmon  and  the  Fig  Tree"  had  been  pub- 
lished just  after  Easter.  A  new  idea  was  germinating, 
but  she  had  got  little  further  than  a  title.  She  could 
lend  herself  to  her  ties.  It  was  fortunate  that  Stella 
needed  her  now. 


72  SEBASTIAN 

Whilst  Vanessa  was  occupied  with  Stella's  varying 
symptoms,  her  husband  and  son  were  together  for  many 
hours.  Sebastian  became  more  uncomfortable,  less 
certain  about  his  immediate  future ;  he  grew  deeper  into 
his  father's  confidence.  Not  that  David  told  him  things, 
but  the  boy  really  had  remarkable  perception,  and  he 
began  dimly  to  see  the  things  that  David  left  untold. 
It  struck  him,  that  his  mother  had  stood  between  him 
and  at  what  he  ought  to  look.  And  the  thing  at  which 
he  had  to  look,  although  he  saw  it  dimly,  being  very 
young,  and  very  self-absorbed,  was  that  his  father  was 
not  in  good  health,  and  felt  the  strain  of  business,  of 
earning  the  income  upon  which  he  and  his  mother  lived 
luxuriously. 

He  had  expected  to  enjoy  these  holidays,  but  the  be- 
ginning of  them,  at  least,  he  found  anything  but  enjoy- 
able. His  father  was  only  fifty-one,  other  fellows' 
fathers,  older  than  his,  still  played  cricket,  and  golf, 
laughed  heartily,  were  full  of  their  own  pleasures,  lived 
selfishly.  His  father  had  no  pleasure  but  in  him;  he 
was  always  tired,  and  his  cough  seemed  to  shake  him. 
He  said  he  was  all  right,  that  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  with  him,  that  Sebastian  must  go  away,  and  enjoy 
himself.  But  Sebastian  was  never  quite  like  other  boys. 
The  cough  that  only  vexed  Vanessa,  stirred  something 
in  him  that  made  him  doubt,  and  question,  and  feel 
depressed. 

At  the  end  of  the  three  days  of  holiday  David  went 
back  to  business,  and  Sebastian  took  advantage  of  the 
occasion  to  visit  the  Gun  Club,  and  try  his  new  acquisi- 
tion. 


SEBASTIAN  73 

Dining  together  that  evening,  at  first,  the  little  party, 
of  three  was  unusually  animated.  Sebastian  was  full 
of  his  exploits,  his  parents  of  appreciation.  They  had 
even  exchanged  sympathetic  looks.  One  of  the  instruc- 
tors had  told  the  boy  he  had  "all  the  makings  of  a  fine 
shot,  "and  he  said  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
show  the  Aspreys  something,  when  he  got  among  the 
grouse.  He  made  reckless  plans  for  the  disposal  of  his 
bags  of  game.  His  spirits  had  risen  again  suddenly, 
for  no  apparent  reason,  and  he  kept  up  a  continual  flow 
of  conversation. 

Neither  he,  nor  Vanessa,  noticed  that  David,  since  the 
soup,  had  eaten  nothing,  that  the  colour  in  his  face 
was  rather  deeper  than  usual,  and  his  lips  bluish.  The 
flow  of  Sebastian's  conversation,  for  once,  seemed  end- 
less to  his  father,  the  dinner  interminable.  If  he  were 
only  alone,  he  could  bear  what  was  coming.  He  wanted 
to  ask  Sebastian  to  help  him  to  his  room,  or  to  go  out 
of  this,  and  leave  him  to  himself,  but  no  words  came. 

The  throes  of  a  physical  terror  were  fastening  upon 
David.  The  pricking  sensation  that  he  knew  so  well 
began  its  ominous  warning.  He  filled  his  wine-glass 
with  trembling  hand,  some  of  the  spirit  was  spilled  on 
the  table-cloth;  Vanessa  looked  up,  and  he  felt  she  was 
criticising  his  awkwardness.  He  could  not  even  apolo- 
gise, he  was  absorbed  in  trying  to  avert  the  impending 
attack,  the  brandy  seemed  to  help  a  little,  and  he  reached 
out  for  more. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  asked  Vanessa.  "Isn't 
that  your  third  glass  ?  " 

There  had  been  times  lately  when  a  faint  suspicion 


74  SEBASTIAN 

had  dawned  in  Vanessa's  mind ;  David  was  so  curiously 
unsteady,  and  now  he  kept  a  bottle  of  brandy  in  his  room  ! 
His  hand  stopped  mechanically  in  the  act  of  filling  his 
glass,  his  eyes  were  dim  and  strained. 

"Are  you  not  accustoming  yourself  -  to  stimulants  ?" 
she  said  gently,  uneasily. 

He  could  not  answer,  the  pain  was  deepening  its  hold, 
he  feared,  he  feared  horribly  what  was  coming. 

"Hullo!  taken  to  drink?"  Sebastian  turned  to  him, 
smiling,  but  what  he  saw  made  him  call  out  quickly: 

"What's  the  matter?"  His  young  shrill  voice  was 
full  of  fear ;  he  ran  to  his  father,  and  put  thin  arms  about 
him.  "What  is  it  ?  Lean  on  me.  Ring  the  bell,  mater, 
quickly,  he's  ill,  he's  awfully  ill.  .  .  .  Oh,  Pupsie  !" 

The  boy's  strength  was  not  equal  to  the  man's  weight. 
David  slid  through  his  arms  to  the  floor ;  the  pain  went 
beyond  disguise,  presently  beyond  consciousness. 

The  sudden  change  in  Sebastian's  tone  brought 
Vanessa  to  them. 

"You  stay  where  you  are,"  she  said,  hurriedly,  her 
own  heart  suddenly  palpitating.  "Lower  him  gently." 
Her  hand  was  on  the  bell.  "  Go  at  once  for  the  doctor," 
she  told  the  man. 

"Oh!  can't  you  do  something  for  him?  Can't  you 
do  anything,  mater?"  The  anguish  in  the  boy's  voice 
distressed  her.  She  tried  to  get  a  teaspoon  of  brandy 
through  the  closed  lips.  She  felt  wretchedly,  that  she 
was  only  resenting  this  call  on  her,  she  tried  to  overcome 
her  repugnance,  to  be  of  use.  Sebastian  could  do  nothing 
but  try  and  hold  his  father  in  his  arms,  fling  himself  be- 
side him  on  the  floor,  and  hold  to  him,  as  if  he  could  hold 


SEBASTIAN  75 

the  pain  away.  David  was  not  so  far  gone,  but  that  he 
could  feel  the  thin  arms.  Before  the  paroxysm  of  agony 
had  passed,  he  even  tried  to  smile  reassuringly. 

"Oh,  don't!" 

Sebastian  burst  into  tears;  for  he  saw  the  effort  his 
father  was  making,  and  he  held  him  closer. 

"Oh,  pater,  pater!"  Feebly  through  the  dimness  of 
his  subsiding  anguish,  David  murmured : 

"I'm  all  right,"  —  breathlessly  he  got  out:  "don't 
cry,  I'm  .  .  .  getting  better  ..." 

"He  is  swallowing  the  brandy,  his  colour  is  coming 
back.  Try  what  you  can  do,  he  will  take  it  from  you." 
But  Sebastian's  left  hand  was  shaky,  and  his  right  arm 
was  round  his  father's  neck. 

"You  go  on,  mater,"  he  said,  in  his  broken  voice. 
Vanessa  held  the  glass  to  her  husband's  lips,  wishing  she 
could  feel  anything  but  repulsion,  feel  differently.  He 
smiled  at  her,  and  tried  to  thank  her,  he  could  hear  the 
vibration  of  the  boy's  sobs. 

"I'm  sorry  ...  to  be  ...  so  troublesome." 

And  after  another  pause,  when  a  little  more  strength 
returned : 

"Don't  stay  with  me,  I'm  all  right.  Sebastian,  .  .  . 
your  mother,  she  can't  bear  this,  send  her  away." 

All  the  time  it  was  of  them,  not  of  himself,  he  was 
thinking.  It  was  the  worst  attack  he  had  had,  the 
agony  had  been  unbearable.  But  he  kept  murmuring 
that  it  had  passed,  that  he  was  better  now,  they  were 
not  to  mind  .  .  .  His  exhaustion  did  not  make  him, 
for  a  moment,  oblivious  of  Sebastian's  grief,  hardly  of 
his  wife's  pallor. 


76  SEBASTIAN 

Dr.  Gifford's  arrival  was  like  air  and  sunshine  in  the 
room;  the  awful  shadow  they  had  seen  on  David's  face 
seemed  no  longer  there. 

"Ah,  he  has  had  one  of  his  attacks  of  indigestion?" 
the  doctor  said,  coolly,  rapidly  taking  in  the  state  of 
affairs.  He  knelt  down  beside  the  patient,  displacing 
Vanessa,  putting  Sebastian,  too,  gently  aside.  He  had 
.his  hand  on  David's  pulse. 

"You've  given  him  brandy,  quite  right.  Lie  still, 
dear  fellow,  you'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  minutes,  now. 
Here,  Sebastian,  just  you  put  your  hand  in  my  pocket, 
and  give  me  a  case  you'll  find  there.  That's  it,  now 
open  it." 

The  doctor  broke  a  little  glass  ball ;  there  was  a  curi- 
ous, pungent  smell  in  the  room.  Almost  before  they 
had  got  used  to  it,  David's  breathing  was  easier,  and  his 
face  had  grown  flushed.  Dr.  Gifford  unfastened  his 
waistcoat,  then  his  collar.  "Open  the  window,  give  me 
that  cushion,  here,  put  it  just  under  his  head,  gently 
now,"  for  Sebastian,  in  his  anxiety  to  be  of  use,  lost  some- 
thing of  his  deftness.  "He  will  do  all  right  now,  don't 
you  move,  don't  you  dare  to  move;"  David  was  trying 
to  get  up.  "No,  no;  I  know  all  about  it;  you  want  to 
apologise  for  being  such  a  trouble  to  us  all.  Well,  it  is 
an  unconscionable  hour  to  call  me  out;  and  just  when  I 
had  sat  down  to  dinner,  too  !  But  your  wife  is  going  to 
order  me  up  something  to  eat.  And  you  will  lie  where 
you  are,  and  entertain  me,  whilst  I  sample  a  glass  of  your 
best  champagne." 

Dr.  Gifford's  tact  was  not  cultivated,  it  was  the  efflo- 
rescence of  a  large  heart,  kept  constantly  informed  by 


SEBASTIAN  77 

a  clear  brain.  He  knew  the  danger  of  David  RendalFs 
condition,  and  what  it  indicated;  but  nothing  was  to 
be  gained  by  alarming  the  invalid  or  those  who  would 
have  to  minister  to  him. 

Therefore  he  sat  until  he  thought  it  was  safe  for  his 
patient  to  be  taken  upstairs,  making  a  pretence  of  dining; 
talking  of  himself,  and  his  day's  engagements,  his  hurried 
breakfast  and  missed  lunch,  interrupted  dinner,  and  the 
inroads  he  was  making  into  his  capacity  for  supper. 
He  brought  into  the  excited  atmosphere  that  sense  of 
security  that  comes  from  commonplace  things.  The 
figure  on  the  floor  was  no  longer  tragic,  when  Dr.  Gifford, 
with  a  mouthful  of  chicken,  was  telling  an  anecdote  of 
two  sisters  who  had  come  to  his  consulting  room  that 
morning  to  induce  him  to  take  their  cases  at  reduced  fee, 
because  they  would  both  require  his  services  at  about 
the  same  time,  and  "there  was  always  a  reduction  for 
quantity."  He  made  it  seem  quite  absurd  and  amusing. 
Although  Vanessa  considered  it  rather  a  coarse  story, 
and  was  sorry  Sebastian  should  hear  it,  she  recovered 
her  wonted  serenity  under  it,  and,  after  all,  that  had  been 
the  result  at  which  the  narrator  aimed. 

"You  will  have  to  give  up  rushing  through  your 
meals,"  he  told  David,  who  was  lying  on  the  floor,  getting 
flushed,  and  easier,  under  the  rug  that  had  been  flung 
over  him.  "Indigestion  plays  the  very  deuce  with  a 
man  of  your  age.  The  food  presses  on  the  thorax; 
before  you  know  where  you  are,  an  irritation  is  set  up; 
pain  comes  on,  and  a  man  thinks  he  has  heart  disease, 
when  it  is  only  a  rump  steak  in  the  wrong  place." 

It  was  very  reassuring  Jo  the  two  listeners,  who  knew 


78  SEBASTIAN 

nothing  of  medicine,  and  had  unbounded  confidence  in 
their  doctor.  Almost  before  David  had  been  got  up- 
stairs, with  the  help  of  a  carrying  chair,  borrowed  from 
a  neighbouring  doctor,  Vanessa  was  thinking  of  the  dra- 
matic value  of  the  scene,  and  Sebastian  had  remembered 
to  be  ashamed  of  his  tears. 

"I  will  give  him  a  few  of  those  glass  things  to  carry 
about  with  him,"  Dr.  Gifford  said,  on  the  steps,  to  Sebas- 
tian, as  he  bade  him  good-night.  "And  never  hesitate 
about  the  brandy  if  he  gets  an  attack  whilst  you  are  with 
him;  carry  a  flask  about  with  you." 

"  Is  he,  is  he  very  ill  ? "  Sebastian  had  not  quite  re- 
covered his  self-possession.  "Is  it  really  only  indi- 
gestion ?  " 

Dr.  Gifford  threw  a  kindly  arm  across  the  boy's 
shoulder. 

"He  wants  all  we  can  do  for  him,  poor  fellow.  But 
he  is  all  right  for  to-night,  I  think.  Come  round  and  see 
me  in  the  morning,  and  we  will  have  a  chat  about  him." 


"I  think,  after  all,  it  will  be  a  bit  slow  in  Scotland," 
Sebastian  said  to  his  mother  at  breakfast  the  next  day. 
"The  journey  is  an  awful  fag.  I  am  really  getting  great 
fun  at  the  Gun  Club.  In  fact,  I've  made  up  my  mind 
not  to  go,  anyhow  for  another  week  or  two." 

"I  am  glad  to  have  you  here,"  was  all  she  said,  and 
even  that  was  a  little  perfunctory.  For  she  had  just 
found  a  wonderful  title,  and  was  longing  to  get  at  her 
first  chapter.  It  was  a  pity  she  had  so  many  ties.  She 
had  satisfied  herself  already  that  David  was  all  right, 


SEBASTIAN  79 

climbing  up  the  stairs,  even  before  breakfast,  to  dutifully 
inquire.  He  told  her  he  had  had  a  good  night,  and  he 
felt  quite  himself,  and  there  was  nothing  in  an  attack  of 
indigestion  to  keep  him  at  home.  He  quoted  Dr.  Gifford. 
She  strongly  advised  him  to  remain  in  bed.  But  he 
wanted  to  go  out,  he  was  overburdened  with  a  sense  of 
hurry,  so  many  things  required  putting  in  order. 

"Don't  you  mind  about  me,  there's  a  good  dear," 
he  said.  And  again  it  was  the  phrase,  and  not  David, 
she  found  arresting.  She  wanted  to  edit  it.  Anyway  he 
said  he  was  well  again,  and  she  accepted  his  statement. 

After  breakfast  it  was  necessary  she  should  go  round 
to  Stella.  Heaven  only  knew  when  she  could  get  a 
couple  of  uninterrupted  hours  in  her  study.  But  she 
had  found  her  title.  "Between  the  Nisi  and  the  Abso- 
lute" a  strange  time  of  waiting,  emotion  in  suspense,  a 
wonderful  subject. 

Every  morning,  during  all  his  adult  life,  punctually 
at  a  quarter  to  nine,  David  had  gone  to  the  mills,  or  to 
Queen  Victoria  Street.  "  Don't  try  and  make  me  change 
now,"  he  urged,  and  she  acquiesced.  He  did  his  best, 
too,  to  reassure  Sebastian,  who  breakfasted  with  him, 
and  scolded  him  for  getting  up,  and  for  contemplating 
going  out.  But  David  gained  his  point. 

"Do  you  think  the  pater  is  really  right  in  going  out 
to-day?"  the  boy  asked  Vanessa.  He  had  put  on  his 
hat,  and  was  walking  round  with  her  to  Weymouth  Street. 
"  He  seems  to  me  to  look  jolly  seedy.  I  think  you  ought 
to  make  him  chuck  the  office  for  a  bit;  stay  at  home, 
and  take  care  of  himself,  he  has  a  beast  of  a  cough,  and 
he  gets  those  pains  now  and  then,  you  know." 


80  SEBASTIAN 

"Oh,  don't  worry  about  your  father,  dear,"  she  an- 
swered, "he  is  always  the  same,  he  always  has  been  the 
same;  illness  is  merely  a  habit  he  has  contracted,  a 
hobby  with  him.  It  stands  him  in  place  of  golf,  or  stamp 
collecting.  He  says  he  is  always  quite  well  in  the  City. 
You  heard  Dr.  Gifford  tell  us  the  attack  we  saw  was 
nothing  but  indigestion.  And  he  worries  unnecessarily 
about  business.  There  seem  to  be  good  and  bad  seasons 
in  the  paper  trade;  that,  and  not  taking  any  exercise, 
is  what  has  upset  him.  I  hope,  by  the  way,"  she  turned 
to  him,  abruptly,  "it  is  not  through  any  idea  about  your 
father  that  you  have  given  up  your  visit  to  Scotland?" 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not,"  he  answered,  quickly.  The 
boyish  shyness  at  the  thought  that  any  sentimentality 
should  be  attributed  to  him,  naturally  taking  alarm. 
"It  is  such  a  rotten  journey." 

"Yes,  it  is  long.  Of  course  I  am  glad  to  have  you 
with  me  a  few  days  more.  I  am  only  sorry  I  cannot  be 
with  you  all  the  time,  but  Aunt  Stella's  condition  worries 
me.  This  is  the  third  attack  of  influenza  she  has  had  this 
year;  she  has  a  bad  throat,  and  she  eats  nothing,  and 
altogether  I  am  not  satisfied  about  her.  I  think  I  shall 
have  another  doctor  for  her  this  afternoon." 

He  walked  by  her  side,  rather  silently,  through  the 
wide  gloom  of  Harley  Street,  to  the  narrow  quiet  of 
Weymouth  Street.  Just  before  they  came  to  Stella's 
door  he  said : 

"I  am  not  so  abso-bally-lutely  certain  about  going 
abroad,  mater." 

She  stopped  suddenly  at  that,  and  eagerly. 

"You  are  going  to  work  at  home.     You  are  going  to 


SEBASTIAN  81 

have  a  coach,  you  are  going  up  to  Oxford,  after  all. 
Oh,  Sebastian,  you  do  not  know  what  it  means  to  me." 

"You  think  I  should  get  a  scholarship?"  he  said, 
vaguely. 

"  Not  a  scintilla,  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  of  it,  there  is 
nothing  you  could  not  do.  Well,  we  will  talk  about  it  at 
tea-time.  Father  won't  be  in  by  then,  so  we  shall  be 
quite  undisturbed."  Her  face  was  bright,  her  interest 
eager,  and  somehow  that  hurt  him. 

"She  is  jolly  anxious  about  Aunt  Stella,  who  has  the 
flue,  a  common  thing  that  every  one  gets;  she  doesn't 
seem  to  think  about  the  governor,"  the  boy  commented, 
as  he  followed  her  into  his  aunt's  house.  But  all  he 
answered  was : 

"As  I  am  here,  I  may  as  well  come  in,  and  see  what 
Bice  is  doing  to-day." 

"We  shall  be  quite  undisturbed  at  tea-time,  we  can 
talk  things  over,"  Vanessa  said  again^  from  the  door. 
"Your  father  won't  be  in  by  then." 

The  boy  thought  that  it  was  a  long  day's  work  for  a 
man,  for  any  man.  He  counted  it  up;  nine  to  seven, 
ten  full  hours !  And  his  father's  face,  on  which  he  had 
never  seen  anger,  nor  reproach,  nor  anything  but  affec- 
tion, would  persistently  intrude.  It  was  a  plain  face, 
lined,  and  tired,  and  old,  but  it  rose  before  him,  and  there 
was  something  in  it  that  made  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

Was  his  mother  blind,  or  was  he  fussing  about 
nothing  ?  Damn  it !  it  was  hard  on  a  fellow  when  his 
father  looked  like  that. 

He  did  not  care  to  be  alone,  thinking  over  these  things. 

In  the  last  few  days  he  had  almost  forgotten  Miss 


82  SEBASTIAN 

Pleyden-Carr,  but  now  he  went  to  seek  her  and  Bice  in 
the  schoolroom.  Because  he  was  restless  and  unhappy 
himself,  he  teased  Bice,  until  she  rushed  from  the  room 
in  tears. 

"Now  we  can  talk  comfortably,"  he  said,  flinging  him- 
self on  the  sofa.  He  wanted  something  to  distract  his 
mind. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  let  you  stay,"  Miss 
Pleyden-Carr  replied,  hesitatingly. 

Bice's  companion-governess,  Ambrose  Pleyden-Carr's 
daughter,  was  blonde  cendre,  almost  an  albino.  Masses 
of  pale  hair  surmounted  a  childish  face,  with  blue  in- 
genuous eyes,  her  nose  and  mouth  were  too  small,  and 
all  her  features  insignificant.  But  nine  people  out  of  ten 
would  have  called  her  a  very  pretty  girl,  delicately  and 
exceptionally  pretty.  She  prided  herself  on  an  eighteen- 
inch  waist  that  needed  no  compression,  and  a  straight 
back.  Her  toilette  occupied  many  hours,  her  looking- 
glass  had  absorbed  her  vitality.  She  was  about  twenty 
years  of  age,  and  without  an  interest  in  the  world  beyond 
her  own  feeble  personality. 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  stay,  since  Bice  has 
rushed  away.  I  think  I  ought  to  go  after  her " 

"Oh!  Come  now,  there's  no  harm  in  our  being  to- 
gether." He  was  very  flattered  at  the  suggestion  that 
it  was  not  safe  for  him  to  be  alone  with  her.  "We  don't 
get  much  talk  together,  that  little  vixen  is  always  in 
the  way.  Tell  me,  now,  if  I  stayed  in  London,  would  a 
fellow  have  a  chance  with  you  ?  I  suppose*  it  isn't  true 
that  you  are  engaged?  Bice  tried  to  get  a  rise  out  of 
me  by  saying  you  were." 


SEBASTIAN  83 

There  was  a  beastly  time  in  front  of  him,  everything 
was  beastly,  he  might  as  well  get  any  compensation  that 
was  possible. 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  in  London?" 

"Well,  what  inducement  will  you  give  me?" 

"What  inducement  could  /  give  you?" 

"You  might  say  you  wanted  me,  that  you  liked  being 
with  me,  for  instance." 

"Bice  doesn't  care  for  you  to  pay  me  much  attention." 

"But  what  is  your  view?  that  is  the  question;  not 
what  Bice  thinks.  You  get  a  day  out  now  and  then, 
don't  you ;  we  might  do  a  Greenwich  dinner,  or  Rich- 
mond, together?" 

He  was  cutting  rather  a  dash  here  after  all ;  his  mer- 
curial spirits  began  to  rise. 

"Ought  I  to?"  she  answered,  with  encouraging  hesi- 
tation. 

There  was  really  much  of  the  child  in  Pleasey,  not- 
withstanding her  position.  She  had  a  child's  greed, 
although  not  for  childish  things.  Her  life  was  dull, 
work  of  any  sort  was  uncongenial  to  her,  and  she  was 
vaguely  bored  with  Bice's  activities. 

"I  don't  think  I  ought  to  promise  to  go  out  with  you. 
Bice  would  not  like  it  if  she  knew." 

"She  won't  know,  nobody  will  know.  That  is  where 
the  fun  will  come  in.  You  leave  it  up  to  me.  We'll 
have  a  ripping  time." 

"But  I  heard  you  were  going  abroad." 

"  Never  you  mind  what  you  heard.  I  might  be  going 
abroad,  if  you  were  going  with  me." 

He  felt  himself  a  very  Lothario  when  he  had  said 


84  SEBASTIAN 

that,  and  the  colour  flushed  into  his  cheek.  He  came 
over  to  where  she  was  sitting,  and  stood  beside  her  chair. 
Further  than  that  he  would  scarcely  have  ventured  with- 
out more  encouragement.  But  his  heart  was  beating 
rather  fast,  and  in  his  brain  thronged  a  hundred  ro- 
mantic incidents.  "After  all,  a  fellow  must  have  some 
fun,"  summarising  them. 

"You  know  you  are  awfully  good-looking,"  he  went 
on. 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  such  things." 

"And  what  a  ripping  lot  of  hair  you  have  got.  I'd 
like  to  see  it  down." 

"  I  don't  like  my  hair,  I  wanted  it  to  be  dark  and  curly, 
like  Bice's." 

"  Bice  ?     She's  a  perfect  little  gipsy ! " 

"She  is  very  fond  of  you." 

"I  wish  you  were." 

"Do  you?" 

"Do  you  think  you  could  get  fond  of  a  fellow?" 

"I  know  how  clever  you  are." 

"Oh!  bar  rot  now." 

He  came  quite  close  to  her,  not  quite  sure  what  was 
stirring  in  him. 

She  was  demure,  but  not  discouraging. 

"I  say " 

He  wanted  to  kiss  her,  and  she  knew  he  did.  It  was 
a  pretty  game,  and  Pleasey  had  played  it  often.  This 
time  she  had  to  be  the  teacher,  and  the  lesson  led  but 
a  little  way.  But  even  that  little  way  took  the  boy, 
momentarily,  out  of  that  shadow-land  of  fear  and  mis- 
giving in  which  he  had  been  moving  the  last  few  days. 


SEBASTIAN  85 

He  thrilled  with  some  unrecognised  emotion,  the  sap 
rising  in  his  veins  brought  the  promise  of  manhood  to 
him.  In  long,  dim  distance  he  had  been  gazing  fearfully, 
ignorantly,  at  death.  Now,  not  less  ignorantly,  but  with- 
out fear,  he  gazed  at  life. 

"How  good  you  are  to  me,"  he  said  to  her.  "I've 
been  jolly  miserable  lately."  For  in  the  end,  after  much 
fencing  and  demureness,  she  had  let  him  kiss  her,  one 
shy  boy's  kiss,  on  her  pale  cheeks,  and  then  she  played 
at  being  ashamed,  and  lit  his  chivalry. 

"Let  me  come  and  talk  to  you  sometimes;  you  are 
so  different  from  everybody  else.  I  am  awfully  in  love 
with  you." 

"You  must  not  be  that." 

"Why?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  I  know  you  must  not.     Bice " 

"Never  mind  about  Bice;  she  is  only  a  kid.  I  say, 
you  know,  I  feel  different  about  you  to  what  I  have  ever 
felt  before.  You  won't  throw  me  over,  or  say  I'm  too 
young,  or  anything  like  that  ?  Let  me  call  you  Pleasey 
when  we  are  alone." 

Sebastian  was  a  little  bewildered  by  his  new  emotions, 
and  a  little  proud  of  them.  Of  course  he  had  fallen  in 
love;  he  always  knew  it  would  happen  to  him  one  day, 
but  it  had  come  so  quickly.  His  self-possession  left  him, 
the  rush  of  words  in  which  to  tell  her  how  wonderful 
she  was,  became  congested  in  his  throat. 

Perhaps  he  was  glad  that  Bice  came  back  at  this  junc- 
ture. His  love  was,  as  yet,  too  slender  and  frail  a  struc- 
ture to  bear  further  experience.  Bice  looked  at  the  two, 
suspiciously. 


86  SEBASTIAN 

"Oh!  you  are  still  here!  I  was  not  sure.  Aunt 
Vanessa  wants  you  to  go  round  to  Dr.  Gifford's;  she 
thinks  nurse  has  made  a  mistake  over  his  directions. 
I  am  to  go  with  you  to  explain." 

Bice  brought  back  into  the  room  its  familiar  atmos- 
phere. He  swallowed  the  lump  in  his  throat.  He  knew 
he  must  chaff  Bice  before  she  began  on  him. 

"  I  have  got  to  be  seen  out  with  you  —  have  I  ?  That's 
rather  rough  on  a  fellow,  isn't  it?" 

"Oh!  don't  be  unkind  to  poor  Bice,"  exclaimed  the 
gentle  Pleasey. 

"I  don't  want  you  to  interfere  between  me  and  Se- 
bastian," was  Bice's  rude  retort. 

"I  was  only  rotting  her,"  Sebastian  explained. 

After  all,  why  tease  Bice?  She  was  awfully  fond 
of  him,  people  had  a  way  of  getting  fond  of  him.  "  Come 
along  then,  is  that  mane  of  yours  going  to  stick  out  like 
that  all  your  life?" 

Bice's  hair  was  very  curly  and  unruly,  but  she  gave 
him  the  retort  discourteous  that  he  expected,  and  they 
went  out  together  fairly  peacefully. 

The  cousins  were  not  as  unsympathetic  as  their  dia- 
logue suggests.  They  had  many  pursuits  and  memories 
in  common,  the  intimacies  of  childhood,  hereditary 
predispositions. 

Dr.  Gifford  saw  them  immediately,  and  reassured  Bice 
as  to  her  mother.  He  confirmed  the  nurse's  report  on 
the  directions  he  had  given  her.  And  then  he  detained 
Sebastian,  with  a  friendly  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"You  wait  ten  minutes  for  your  cousin,  will  you?" 
he  said  to  the  girl.  "You  will  find  plenty  to  amuse  you 


SEBASTIAN  87 

in  the  dining-room,  illustrated  papers,  and  some  picture 
books."  He,  too,  teased  her  a  little,  kindly;  Bice 
resented  her  size,  and  the  implication  that  it  kept  her 
still  a  child,  but  no  one  could  resent  Dr.  Gifford. 

The  Sebastian  Kendall  who  emerged  from  the  doctor's 
sanctum  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  was  not  the  same 
lad  who  had  entered  it.  The  colour  had  gone  out  of 
his  cheeks,  and  something  like  fear  was  in  his  eyes. 
Lightly  as  he  had  let  him  down,  Dr.  Gifford  had  told  him 
that  which  made  the  incident  in  the  Weymouth  Street 
schoolroom  dwindle  into  unimportance.  He  walked 
quite  silently  by  Bice's  side,  trying  to  regain  his  courage. 
It  was  she  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  I  heard  Aunt  Vanessa  tell  mother  you  had  changed 
your  mind  about  going  abroad,"  she  began. 

"Well,  I  wish  she  wouldn't  mag  about  my  affairs; 
that  is  the  worst  of  you  women,  you  can't  keep  your 
mouths  shut." 

"  It  would  have  been  splendid  though,  travelling  about. 
I  wish  I  were  going.  I  wouldn't  have  given  it  up  for 
anything.  But  I  suppose  you  want  to  show  the  Eton 
people  you  can  get  a  Balliol  Scholarship  without  them." 

"Don't  be  such  a  fool.  I  wouldn't  have  it  if  they 
offered  it  to  me." 

"Then  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

He  must  have  a  confidant.    He  turned  to  her,  suddenly. 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret  ?  " 

"Oh !  Sebastian !"  He  knew  she  could,  he  had  tried 
her  more  than  once. 

"Well,  then,  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  into 
business  —  to  join  the  pater." 


88  SEBASTIAN 

"Oh!  Sebastian!"  The  tears  in  her  eyes,  the  dis- 
may in  her  voice,  soothed  him. 

"Pretty  shocked,  aren't  you?" 

"How  will  aunt  bear  it?  Oh!  Sebastian,  how  can 
you?" 

"You  don't  suppose  I  like  it,  do  you?"  he  answered, 
gloomily. 

"Then  why " 

"Why?  Why?  Because  I  am  not  so  blind  as  some 
people,  that's  all !" 

"  I  don't  understand.  Sebastian,  don't  be  so  —  so 
unkind,  tell  me,  explain.  You  can't  do  it,  you,  that  were 
going  to  be  everything,  that  we  all  thought  —  Oh ! 
Sebastian!" 

"  Leave  off  yelling  out '  Oh !  Sebastian/  half  across 
the  street.  Good  heavens !  you  are  not  going  to  begin 
to  cry?" 

But  she  was,  she  had  begun  already.  Sebastian  was 
her  hero,  for  him  she  dreamed  her  dreams,  the  world  grew 
dark  when  the  glowing  figure  sank ;  Sebastian  in  business, 
Sebastian  buying  and  selling ! 

"I  am  not  crying:  I've  got  a  cold,"  she  sniffed. 

It  was  something  to  have  Bice  on  whom  to  work  off 
his  feelings.  After  all  Dr.  Gifford  had  only  told  him  what 
he  had  already  guessed.  And  as  for  his  decision,  had 
he  not  been  making  it  all  these  long  three  days  ? 

"You  can't  howl  all  the  way  home,  we  had  better 
turn  into  the  Park.  If  you  are  so  jolly  dense  you  can't 
see  I  have  no  choice,  I'll  show  it  you." 

They  were  silent  until  they  were  in  the  comparative 
quiet  of  Regent's  Park.  Beatrice  accomplished  a  certain 


SEBASTIAN  89 

amount  of  self-control,  and  Sebastian  began  to  talk 
again,  as  soon  as  the  green  was  about  them. 

"The  governor  is  ill;  the  mater  doesn't  see  it.  She 
must  not  be  made  anxious,  she' has  a  new  book  simmering. 
He  is  working  eight  hours  a  day,  so  that  I  can  have  all  I 
want,  and  she  can  have  her  china,  and  prints,  and  things. 
I  can't  go  on  watching  him  struggle  out  at  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  come  home,  dead  beat,  at  seven,  with  both 
hands  in  his  pockets,  ready  to  give  us  all  he  has  made. 
I  can't  stand  by,  and  see  that  going  on,  and  then  go  off, 
shooting  grouse,  and  enjoying  myself  —  letting  him  grind 
on.  It  takes  the  guts  out  of  everything.  I  feel  like  a 
beast  every  time  I  look  at  him.  Why  should  a  man  of 
fifty  work  for  a  man  of  eighteen?  " 

"But  you  can  work  later,  you  can  make  money, 
writing,  or  at  the  bar,  you  can  get  scholarships,  you  can 
coach  —  and  you're  only  seventeen.  You  are  the  only 
grandson  of  Hepplewight-Ventom.  Sebastian !  you  can't 
just  buy  and  sell,  you  can't  be  a  shopkeeper,  like  Uncle 
David ! "  The  child's  grief  and  rage  could  not  be  sup- 
pressed. 

"I  can't  be  a  cur,"  he  kicked  the  gravel  up  with  his 
feet,  dug  vicious  holes  in  it  with  his  gold-headed  cane. 
"She  can't  see  it.  He  can't  even  stand  the  stairs  — 
he  is  not  fit  to  go  out  and  about  by  himself.  He  has  al- 
ways been  a  brick  to  me  —  the  mater  is  a  wonder,  of 
course,  but  some  one  has  to  take  care  of  the  pater." 

She  got  closer  to  him,  he  liked  the  instinctive  sympathy, 
and  for  once  did  not  repel  her. 

"I  meant  to  go  abroad,  to  study  philology,  the  origin 
of  language,  to  make  a  name,  but  there  is  no  use  going 


90  SEBASTIAN 

into  that  now.  I  have  got  to  give  it  up,  to  give  up  every- 
thing but  sticking  to  the  governor.  Whatever  he  does  in 
the  City  I  must  learn,  and  I  must  do  it  instead  of  him. 
After  all,  I  suppose  it  would  be  something  if  I  grew  like 
him." 

"Like  Uncle  David!"  There  was  only  one  transla- 
tion of  her  exclamation,  and  he  turned  on  her,  almost 
savagely. 

"There  you  go,  just  like  the  rest,  half  blind.  Can't 
you  see  what  kind  of  man  the  governor  is  ?  He  doesn't 
swagger  about,  or  amuse  himself,  but  did  you  ever  hear 
of  his  doing  a  selfish  thing,  or  a  mean  one  ?  Did  you  crver 
hear  him  talking  about  his  feelings,  or  his  individuality; 
do  you  think  he  hasn't  got  any  ?  I  tell  you  he  is  the  best 
man  in  the  world  and — I  believe  he  is—  Oh  !  damn  it." 

Sebastian  had  turned  his  head  away  from  his  cousin, 
and  she  could  not  see  his  eyes,  but  his  voice  startled  her ! 

"I  believe  he  is  going  to  die." 

That  hard  young  Sebastian  whom  Vanessa  thought  she 
knew  so  well,  got  out  the  words  with  quivering  lips. 
Bice  had  never  seen  Sebastian  cry.  She  was  tingling 
all  over,  hot  and  ashamed,  and  sat  by  his  side  in  silence. 
He  brushed  away  his  tears  in  a  minute,  they  were  painful 
ones. 

"  Isn'  t  it  ghastly  ?    The  mater  doesn'  t  know  anything. ' ' 

"Did  Dr.  Gifford  tell  you?" 

"  I  have  been  miserable  about  him  all  the  time.  Just 
now,  when  you'd  gone  out  of  the  room,  I  said : 

" '  The  pater  looks  queer,  doctor,  can't  you  buck  him 
up  ? '  He  said :  '  Not  for  long,  I'm  afraid,  dear  boy.' ' 

Bice  remembered,  now,  that  Sebastian  had  left  the  house 


SEBASTIAN  91 

quickly,  she  had  to  run  to  catch  him  up.  Dr.  Gifford  was 
the  family  doctor,  the  friend  of  all  of  them.  If  he  had  not 
spared  Sebastian,  it  was  because  he  knew  the  boy  had 
strength,  and  could  bear  his  burdens. 

"Has  any  one  told  Aunt  Vanessa?"  Bice  asked, 
presently,  when  she  had  had  time  to  grow  quiet,  and 
dared  to  speak  to  him. 

"  No,  and  don't  you  open  your  mouth  until  I  give  you 
leave.  I'm  going  down  this  afternoon  to  see  Uncle  Will ; 
the  governor  said  he  would  not  be  at  the  office,  he  is  at 
the  mills  to-day.  When  I  have  arranged  with  the  uncles, 
and  told  the  pater  what  I'm  going  to  do,  I'll  let  her  know. 
She  will  be  glad  I  am  going  to  stay  at  home,  and  that  will 
make  things  easier." 

Very  few  words  had  passed  between  the  boy  and  the 
doctor.  He  had  known  his  father  was  ill,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  vacation.  He  could  see,  anybody  could 
see,  that  his  daily  work  was  trying  him  beyond  his  strength. 
David  told  the  boy  he  had  obligations  to  the  firm,  that 
what  he  did  in  the  City  could  be  done  by  neither  of  his 
brothers.  What  could  a  fellow  do?  Sebastian  had  it 
borne  in  upon  him  gradually  in  these  few  days,  and  now 
he  felt,  convincingly,  overwhelmingly,  that  it  was  he 
who  must  meet  his  father's  obligations. 

The  truth  about  his  health  he  nevertheless  tried  to  put 
away  from  him. 

"Would  it  do  him  good  to  rest?"  he  had  asked  Dr. 
Gifford. 

"All  the  good  in  the  world.  But  there  is  little  chance 
of  such  a  thing,  under  present  circumstances.  I  cannot 
even  get  him  to  take  a  week's  holiday." 


92  SEBASTIAN 

"  If  some  one  else  could  do  his  work " 

"Ah!  if  anybody  could!" 

Dr.  Gifford  knew  what  he  was  about.  Sebastian  had 
been  growing  too  selfish,  too  self-absorbed,  his  mother 
had  nearly  succeeded  in  making  a  prig  of  him.  But  there 
was  good  stuff  in  the  lad ;  there  could  not  fail  to  be  with 
such  parents.  They  had  perhaps  brought  him  up  too 
luxuriously,  made  him  too  much  the  centre  of  his  little 
world.  But  the  doctor  had  great  hopes  of  him,  and  was 
doing  his  share  towards  his  fulfilment  of  them. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THAT  very  afternoon,  to  the  surprise  of  Messrs.  P.  A. 
Kendall  and  Co.,  and  for  the  edification  of  the  whole 
establishment,  Mr.  Sebastian  Kendall  called  at  No.  1130 
Queen  Victoria  Street.  He  was  resplendent  in  a  well- 
brushed  top  hat,  the  black  coat  that  made  his  slenderness 
so  apparent,  grey  striped  trousers  turned  up  over  his 
patent  leather  boots,  tan  waistcoat,  and  grey  suede 
gloves.  He  was  known  to  the  clerks,  who  resented  rather 
than  admired  him ;  it  was  almost  with  difficulty  he  found 
one  willing  to  inform  Mr.  William  Kendall  that  he  wished 
for  an  interview. 

The  warehouse  looked  very  dull  and  dreary  to  the  boy 
on  this  August  day,  half  empty,  save  for  a  few  stacks  of 
sample  papers  on  the  dusty  shelves.  There  was  no  bustle, 
or  movement,  the  clerks  and  warehousemen  looked  only 
half  alive,  the  gloom  was  complete.  He  knew  he  would 
have  to  learn  all  about  paper,  but  what  was  on  the  shelves 
seemed  very  grey,  and  ugly,  and  untempting. 

"Well,  young  Admirable  Crichton,  and  what  can  I 
do  for  you?"  was  his  uncle's  greeting. 

Mr.  William  Kendall  had  a  red  beard  and  wore  glasses. 
He  was  the  head  of  the  firm,  a  man  about  sixty-five.  The 
other  partner,  John,  was  also  carroty,  but  in  an  inferior, 
pink-eyed  way.  Both  of  them  eyed  Sebastian  critically, 
not  unkindly,  although  they  always  had  disapproved,  in 

93 


94  SEBASTIAN 

their  bachelor  superiority,  of  his  education,  and  up- 
bringing, and  literary  mother. 

He  greeted  them  with  an  easy  nod;  he  liked  them 
both;  they  were  associated  in  his  mind  with  "tips," 
and  handsome  birthday  presents.  He  thought  they 
were  rum  old  buffers,  and  not  equal  to  his  father.  It  was 
difficult  to  begin  what  he  had  to  say  to  them. 

"  How  do,  Uncle  Will.    How  do,  Uncle  John." 

He  subsided  into  a  chair,  talked  about  the  weather, 
commented  on  the  state  of  the  streets. 

"How's  business?"  he  asked  presently.  The  question 
irritated  them  both.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  pretty 
slack,  and  it  seemed  an  impertinence  that  he  should  en- 
quire. 

"Is  that  what  you  came  into  the  City  for?"  John 
asked,  in  a  way  that  was  intended  to  be  satirical,  "to 
enquire  how  we  were  doing  ?  Because  I  should  think  you 
might  have  waited  until  the  evening,  when  your  father 
came  home,  and  asked  him." 

"Very  smart,"  answered  Sebastian.  "You  have 
guessed  it  at  once.  If  that  is  what  I  had  come  for,  I'd 
have  stopped  at  home.  Where  did  you  get  that  tie, 
Uncle  Jack?" 

John  instinctively  put  up  his  hand  and  straightened 
out  the  bow.  He  was  more  dressy  than  either  of  his 
brothers,  younger-looking,  too,  for  all  his  sixty  years. 
Although  he  disapproved,  on  principle,  of  Sebastian,  he 
had  some  secret  family  pride  in  him.  So  indeed  had 
William,  although  they  never  admitted  it  to  each  other. 
John  was  rather  pleased  his  dandy  nephew  admired  his 
tie,  for  of  course  he  took  the  enquiry  to  mean  admiration. 

"At  Hope's,  do  you  like  it?" 


SEBASTIAN  95 

"M'yes,  it's  all  right.    Pretty  stuffy  here,  isn't  it?" 

The  windows  were  closed,  the  outlook  of  the  partners' 
office  was  on  to  a  similar  block  of  buildings,  high  enough 
to  obscure  the  light,  a  reflector  arrangement  only  suc- 
ceeded in  obstructing  air;  the  electric  lamps  had  to  be 
kept  burning  all  day. 

"  We  have  not  been  spoilt  in  a  palatial  establishment 
at  Eton/'  said  William.  "  It  is  good  enough  for  us,  and 
good  enough  for  your  father." 

Sebastian  grinned  at  the  remembrance  of  his  "  palatial 
room"  at  Eton,  eight  feet  by  ten,  with  iron  bars  to  the 
windows,  a  door  that  would  not  shut,  and  walls  that  sloped 
to  the  ceiling.  Both  Uncle  Will  and  Uncle  John  had  been 
to  tea  with  him  there  on  successive  fourths  of  June,  and 
both  of  them  had  thought,  as  business  men,  that  David 
was  getting  bad  value  for  his  £300  a  year. 

The  conversation  kept  at  the  same  level  for  a  few 
moments.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  boy  was  embarrassed, 
found  it  difficult  to  say  what  he  had  come  for,  and  cov- 
ered his  difficulty  with  flippancy,  until  he  succeeded  in 
thoroughly  irritating  the  two  whose  suffrages  he  was 
seeking. 

"  Well,  young  sir,  I  can't  waste  any  more  of  the  busiest 
time  in  the  day,"  said  William,  at  length.  "I  quite 
appreciate  your  condescension  in  looking  us  up,  but  I've 
got  work  to  do." 

He  took  up  a  pile  of  letters,  waiting  for  signature 
in  a  basket  on  the  table,  and  the  hint  was  followed  by 
John,  whose  own  desk,  on  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
was  distinguished  by  sheets  of  writing,  checked  in  red  ink, 
rather  more  interesting,  Sebastian  thought.  He  knew 


96  SEBASTIAN 

they  meant  him  to  go,  but  he  sat  on,  watching  one  uncle 
rapidly  scanning  the  post,  adding  his  neat  signature; 
watching  the  other,  referring  to  his  ledger,  comparing  his 
sheets. 

"I  say,  couldn't  the  clerks  do  that  work?"  he  asked 
John,  presently. 

"No,  they  couldn't/'  he  answered,  sharply. 

Why  did  not  the  boy  go,  what  on  earth  was  he  linger- 
ing there  for,  what  did  he  want  ? 

"Couldn't  I?" 

"You?" 

John  paused  in  handling  his  ledger.  William  looked  up 
from  his  correspondence. 

"You?"  said  John  again,  and  William  listened. 

"Yes,  I;  why  not?  I'm  not  exactly  a  fool.  I  learn 
things  pretty  easily." 

The  brothers'  eyes  met. 

"Sebastian,  my  boy,  what  did  you  come  down  here  for 
to-day  ?  Did  anybody  send  you  ?  Had  you  any  obj  ect  in 
coming  ? '  William's  voice  was  encouraging.  Sebastian 
flushed  a  little,  but  took  the  plunge. 

"Would  I  be  any  good,  do  you  think  ?  Could  you  use 
me  ?  Uncle  Will,  Uncle  John ;  I'm  a  Kendall,  too.  The 
firm  has  been  here  nearly  one  hundred  years,  the  pater 
tells  me." 

He  was  shy,  and  his  usual  glibness  failed  a  little. 

"One  hundred  and  eighteen,  we  celebrated  our 
centenary  the  year  your  father  married.  We  were  one 
of  the  first  firms  of  paper  merchants  in  London.  The 
Kendall  Mills  were  - 

"I  know;  I  know  all  about  the  firm.  Well,  is  there 
room  for  me  ?  " 


SEBASTIAN  97 

It  was  not  what  he  had  meant  to  say,  it  was  not  the 
way  he  intended  to  put  it. 

"Did  your  father  tell  you  to  come  to  us  ?" 

They  were  more  than  pleased.  It  had  been  a  grievance, 
it  had  been  their  only  grievance  against  David,  that  he 
had  brought  up  his  son  to  consider  himself  too  good  for 
the  old  business;  the  business  made  by  three  generations 
of  Kendalls. 

"No,  it's  my  own  idea;  I  thought  if  I  could  settle  it 
up  with  you,  I  would  announce  it  at  home  afterwards.  I 
want  to  come  down  of  a  day  with  the  pater.  I  might 
begin  by  going  about  with  him,  if  you  don't  mind.  I 
suppose  there  is  some  one  goes  round  with  him.  Carries 
the  samples,  or  whatever  it  is.  I  don't  care  what  I  start 
upon." 

The  brothers  smiled  at  Sebastian's  idea  of  his  father's 
work,  travelling  about,  accompanied  by  some  one  with 
samples,  like  a  pedlar  with  his  pack.  But  he  had  come 
to  them  in  the  right  spirit. 

"  We  will  talk  about  your  work  later  on,  we  must  have  a 
chat  together,  and  with  your  father.  It  is  enough  for  us 
to  say  now,  at  once  —  I  think  I  may  speak  for  you,  John, 
as  well  as  for  myself  —  you  are  very  heartily  welcome, 
we  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  with  us." 

He  added  some  trite  phrases  about  work,  and  responsi- 
bility, but  they  did  not  efface  the  effect  of  his  welcome. 
The  welcome  touched  Sebastian;  he  was  quick  to  take 
in  what  the  business  meant  to  them,  and  that  they 
were  glad  he  would  be  a  part  of  it.  He  said  the  right 
thing,  that  he  would  be  proud  of  it,  too ;  and  then  was 
half  ashamed,  for,  after  all,  it  was  only  business. 


98  SEBASTIAN 

But  William  got  up  and  solemnly  shook  hands  with 
him,  and  John  followed  suit.  They  were,  perhaps,  old- 
fashioned  people;  but  the  little  ceremoniousness  of  it 
pleased  the  boy's  taste,  and  he  talked  with  them  after- 
wards more  easily.  Their  point  of  view  was  quite  clear 
to  him,  a  great  pride  in  their  good  name  in  the  City, 
and  established  credit.  They  talked  of  David,  too,  in  a 
way  that  he  thought  would  make  Bice  " sit  up."  To 
them,  David  was  the  pivot  of  the  business,  he  had  ever 
been  the  brain  of  the  firm.  He  it  was  who  interviewed 
the  clients,  and  practically  ran  the  mills.  Hand-made 
paper  was  their  speciality,  the  Mildenhall  Press  used  none 
but  Rendall  paper;  every  famous  copy  of  the  limited 
editions  of  the  Ewelme  Press  bore  the  imprint  of  the  firm. 
They  were  in  touch  with  the  first  publishing  houses  in 
London.  All  this,  and  more,  Sebastian  heard. 

William  and  John  superintended  the  office,  and  the 
detail  of  distribution,  but  it  was  David  who  brought  in 
the  business.  He  was  rather  venturesome  in  their 
eyes,  almost  too  go-ahead,  but  he  had  proved  himself 
right  again  and  again,  and  they  had  reaped  the  profit 
of  his  greater  foresight,  keener  vision.  Hitherto  Sebastian 
had  not  thought  of  his  father  as  a  clever,  or  particularly 
able  man,  only  as  a  good  one.  He  began  to  realise  that 
the  John  Hepplewight-Ventom  traditions  of  art  and  of 
scholarship,  his  mother's  clique  of  literary  and  newspaper 
people,  left  outside  their  consideration,  any  appreciation 
of  a  talent  for  generalship  in  business.  If  Uncle  Will  was 
the  nominal,  his  father,  it  appeared,  was  the  actual,  head 
of  the  firm.  And  it  was  obvious,  too,  that  his  father  had 
been  right  in  thinking  himself  indispensable,  in  finding 
it  impossible  to  abandon  his  responsibilities. 


SEBASTIAN  99 

It  did  not  seem  so  certain  now  that  he  could  do  his 
father's  work  for  him.  He  would  have  to  learn  his  way 
first,  and  that  might  prove  a  slower  affair  than  he  had 
contemplated.  Work,  however,  appealed  to  Sebastian; 
he  liked  it,  a  rare  quality  in  the  very  young.  But  then 
Sebastian  was  rare,  it  was  only  a  pity  that  he  knew  it  so 
well.  He  was  greatly  upheld  at  the  moment  by  the 
thought  of  the  career  that  he  was  sacrificing.  It  was 
impossible  to  do  otherwise,  after  what  he  had  learnt  from 
Dr.  Gifford,  but  there  was  no  doubt  he  was  rather  a  fine 
fellow.  Languages  were  his  forte,  and  philology  —  but 
there  was  no  use  thinking  of  that  now. 

He  took  a  hansom  from  the  City;  work  was  in  his 
scheme  of  life,  but  economy  held  no  place  in  it.  Rather, 
as  the  hansom  took  him  further  from  the  crowded,  sordid 
City,  nearer  the  restful,  luxurious  West  End,  did  he 
begin  to  think,  as  Sebastian  always  thought,  of  the  re- 
wards of  labour. 

Of  course,  if  he  went  into  business  he  would  make 
money,  a  fortune;  his  greater  brain  must  conduce  to 
a  greater  success  than  Uncles  John  or  William,  even  than 
his  father,  could  accomplish.  He  would  run  a  motor; 
from  Holborn  to  Oxford  Circus  he  was  weighing  the 
merits  of  various  cars.  Then  he  would  reorganise  the 
office,  brighten  it  up  a  bit,  sack  the  old  clerks,  get  young 
fellows  about  him,  brisk  things  up.  By  the  time  he  had 
reached  Harley  Street,  he  had  the  finest  premises  in  the 
City,  plate  glass  and  mahogany,  commissionaires  in  uni- 
form, everything,  and  more,  that  he  had  seen  at  the 
private  bank  when  he  had  cashed  cheques.  He  had  in- 
herited the  novelist's  imagination,  a  dangerous  gift  for  the 
business  man  into  which  he  saw  himself  develop. 


100  SEBASTIAN 

He  had  not  said  a  word  to  his  uncles  about  his  father's 
health.  He  could  not  bring  the  words  to  his  lips.  Then, 
too,  ever  since  he  had  made  his  decision,  hope,  those  high 
fallacious  hopes  integral  to  his  youth,  grew  strong, 
that  when  he  was  with  his  father,  looking  after  him, 
sharing  his  work,  David  would  improve  in  health,  grow 
happier,  healthier.  It  was  difficult  to  say  when  or  how 
Sebastian  had  first  realised  that  his  father  was  not  a 
happy  man,  but  certainly  the  knowledge  was  there. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SEBASTIAN  had  to  break  the  news  of  his  decision  to 
his  parents.  He  planned  to  do  it  at  dinner,  he  even 
arranged  a  little  scene.  He  would  announce  it  care- 
lessly, he  mentally  rehearsed  the  exact  shade  of  careless- 
ness, he  looked  forward  to  his  mother's  dismay,  and  how 
he  would  meet  it,  to  his  father's  surprise.  David  must 
never  know  the  true  reason ;  it  was  then  he  felt  a  throb 
of  heroism  again,  and  a  sickening  reaction  of  anxiety. 

But  his  schemes  fell  through. 

Stella  had  announced  herself  convalescent,  and  had 
released  Vanessa  from  the  attendance  that  she  saw  was 
irksome.  Stella  knew  her  sister.  When  Vanessa's  eyes 
wore  that  far-off  look,  and  her  answers  came  slowly, 
sometimes  unreasonably,  Vanessa  should  be  in  her 
library. 

Stella  knew  Vanessa  would  not  have  written  novels 
had  she  been  a  happy  woman;  happy  women  do  not 
write.  But,  ignorant  of  all  she  missed,  she  found  the 
world  that  suited  her,  when  she  was  alone,  with  her  pen 
in  her  hand.  And  the -necessity  for  the  anodyne  was 
upon  her  now,  when  her  disappointment  over  Sebastian's 
relinquishment  of  Eton  was  acute,  and  her  physical 
consciousness  was  warring  with  her  speech,  on  the 
subject  of  David's  health. 

Stella  released  her  from  attendance  on  the  condition 

101 


102  SEBASTIAN 

that  she  wrote  her  first  chapter.  And  Vanessa  was  grate- 
ful for  the  sympathy  and  understanding. 

Therefore  when  Sebastian  came  home,  full  of  his 
announcement,  he  was  met  by  the  news  that  his  mother 
was  in  her  study,  and  not  to  be  disturbed;  that  his 
father  had  come  home  with  a  bad  headache,  and  gone 
straight  to  his  room. 

Sebastian  dined  alone,  and  felt  rather  flat.  He 
lounged  about,  and  criticised  his  mother's  china,  tried 
the  paper,  and  found  it  dull,  took  up  a  novel,  pitched  it 
away  again,  and  was  just  about  to  go  round  to  Wey- 
mouth  Street,  when  the  servant  came  in  to  tell  him  if 
he  wouldn't  mind  going  upstairs  his  father  would  like 
to  see  him. 

Sebastian  was  little  fonder  of  a  sick  room  than  Va- 
nessa, although  his  sensitiveness  was  of  a  different  order, 
more  natural,  and  less  cultivated.  He  was  ashamed  of 
that  of  which  Vanessa  was  proud. 

But  David  had  the  window  open,  there  was  a  full 
moon,  and  there  was  no  other  light  in  the  room.  In 
its  pallor,  David  looked  very  grey,  he  was  lying  on  his 
back,  and  he  smiled  at  Sebastian.  The  boy  thought  it 
a  dear  face,  a  rush  of  emotion  seized  him,  wordless. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  mind  coming  up,"  David  began. 

"Feeing  better?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  all  right  again.  I  could  have  come 
down,  but  I  always  think  you  and  your  mother  talk 
better  without  me." 

"The  mater  didn't  turn  up.  She  has  got  an  attack 
of  inspiration  on,  and  has  sported  her  oak." 

"So  I  just  heard.    I'm  sorry  you  had  to  dine  alone." 


SEBASTIAN  103 

"I  would  have  had  it  up  here  with  you  if  you'd  have 
sent  down  word." 

"I  only  wanted  a  little  soup.  Were  you  doing  any- 
thing this  evening?  I  don't  want  to  keep  you." 

"  No !  I  rather  wanted  to  talk  to  you.  But  are  you 
fit  to  talk?  Pain  gone?" 

"I'm  all  right." 

David  wanted  to  talk  to  Sebastian ;  he  had  been  think- 
ing, and  thinking.  His  conscientiousness  was  suffering. 
Business  was  contracting,  instead  of  expanding,  his  best 
energies  had  been  used  up;  John  and  William  were 
growing  old.  Expenses  seemed  always  increasing. 
Vanessa  bought  china,  Sebastian  was  luxurious  in  his 
tastes.  He  could  grudge  neither  of  them  anything. 
But  he  was  a  business  man,  and  he  saw  rocks  ahead. 
For  months,  perhaps  years,  it  had  been  in  his  mind  that 
Sebastian  should  know  how  things  stood.  He  did  not 
think  Dr.  Gifford  was  right  in  his  diagnosis,  it  was  more 
than  indigestion  that  was  robbing  him  of  his  strength, 
the  future  was  not  clear.  He  was  troubled  about  many 
things,  and  sleep  was  more  and  more  difficult.  In  the 
long  nights  he  was  wearied  with  anxiety,  and  the  doubt 
as  to  what  course  to  pursue.  He  came  nearer,  and  ever 
nearer,  to  the  decision  to  take  the  boy  into  his  confidence. 
Yet  ever  he  hesitated  to  trouble  his  youth.  To-night 
the  pain  had  so  weakened  him,  his  solitude  of  thought, 
and  hours  of  indecision,  had  so  unnerved  him,  that  he 
had  sent  for  Sebastian  to  tell  him  everything. 

Sebastian  tilted  back  his  chair,  put  his  feet  on  the  bed, 
and  talked.  David  lay  and  looked  at  him,  at  the  slip 
of  a  boy  so  vivid  and  egotistic,  with  a  great  pride  in  his 


104  SEBASTIAN 

eyes,  and  a  greater  love.  If  only  he  could  keep  him 
untroubled !  Already  he  was  feeling  better,  stronger. 
After  all,  there  might  be  years  of  work  in  front  of  him. 

"When  do  you  go  to  Scotland?" 

"I  am  not  so  sure  I'm  going  at  all.  I  have  rather 
changed  my  plans." 

"Tell  me  about  them;  it  does  me  good  to  listen." 

"Sure  you  ought  not  to  be  quiet?" 

"  I  have  so  many  hours  quiet ;  I  don't  sleep  very  well." 

"The  mater  can't  stand  a  sick-room,"  Sebastian  said, 
apologetically. 

But  not  a  shadow  of  reproach  must  rest  on  Vanessa. 
David  was  quick  to  answer : 

"  I  like  to  be  alone  when  I  am  not  well.  Your  mother 
knows  that,  she  has  her  work  to  do,  and  your  Aunt 
Stella  leans  on  her,  looks  to  her  for  companionship." 

"She  has  Bice." 

"Well,  haven't  I  got  you?" 

"You  are  going  to  have  rather  more  of  me  than  you 
bargained  for." 

Now  he  could  bring  out  his  bomb-shell.  He  did  not 
want  that  his  heart  should  ache  for  his  father.  It  must 
be  pretty  awful  lying  by  himself  in  this  dingy  room; 
perhaps  what  he  was  going  to  tell  him  would  cheer  him 
up. 

"  I  went  down  to  Queen  Victoria  Street  this  afternoon," 
he  began,  abruptly. 

"Queen  Victoria  Street?  Did  you?  I'm  glad  of 
that.  I  didn't  go  back  to  the  office.  You  were  quite 
right  to  call  on  your  uncles.  I'm  sure  they  were  pleased. 
Did  Uncle  William  say  anything  to  you,"  there  was  a 
shade  of  anxiety  in  his  voice,  "about  business?" 


SEBASTIAN  105 

"I  said  something  to  him." 

"You?" 

"  I  told  him  I  wanted  to  join  them." 

"You  told  them " 

David  sat  up  in  his  surprise,  in  his  excitement.  Se- 
bastian was  quite  satisfied  with  his  effect. 

"You  lie  down,"  he  said,  patronisingly,  "and  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

He  proceeded  to  describe  the  interview  with  his  uncles. 
David  was  nervously  excited,  and  interested  in  every 
detail  of  the  conversation.  He  forgot  everything,  for 
the  moment,  but  that  the  secret  dream  of  his  heart  was 
to  be  realised,  a  son  of  his  would  carry  on  the  tradition 
of  the  old  firm !  He  thanked  the  boy  over  and  over 
again,  it  was  pathetic  to  see  his  gladness  in  it.  But 
quickly  he  began  to  doubt,  to  question.  Did  Sebastian 
realise  what  he  was  doing?  Was  he  sacrificing  himself 
because  William  or  John  had  suggested  it;  was  it  his, 
David's,  fault,  that  Sebastian  had  guessed  his  hopes  ? 

David,  as  the  moments  went  by,  and  he  realised  what 
the  boy  was  telling  him,  tried  to  banish  himself,  and  his 
wishes,  from  the  whole  matter,  and  impersonally,  to 
make  Sebastian  think  again  of  the  step  he  contemplated. 
David  talked  of  difficulties,  and  disappointments.  Se- 
bastian, with  ingenuous  candour,  pointed  out  that  chaps 
of  his  calibre  so  seldom  went  into  business.  He  had  not 
the  slightest  doubt  that  when  that  was  taken  into  account 
difficulties  would  disappear.  Listening  to  him,  David, 
perhaps,  thought  so  too.  It  was,  probably,  the  best 
hour  in  David's  married  life.  His  secret  pride  in  the  • 
firm,  his  great  pride  in  Sebastian,  the  vision  of  the  future 


106  SEBASTIAN 

with  the  boy  by  his  side,  compensated  him  for  so  much 
that  he  had  suffered  and  feared.  He  saw  himself  intro- 
ducing the  young  Etonian  to  customers,  hearing  him 
argue,  and  persuade,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  carried 
away  by  Sebastian's  optimism;  it  was  only  new  blood 
that  was  needed,  new  vigour  and  enthusiasm. 

And  then  David  began  to  talk,  he  had  not  talked  so 
much  for  years;  he  opened  himself  out  to  the  boy,  told 
him  business  secrets,  of  negotiations  that  had  been 
brought  to  satisfactory  conclusion,  of  orders  pending  or 
given.  For  the  moment,  he  saw  the  bright  side  of  every- 
thing. He  forgot  that  but  an  hour  ago  he  had  seen  the 
necessity  of  exposing  a  dwindling  clientele,  a  diminished 
profit,  a  shrinking  of  capital  value,  and  commercial 
possibility.  There  were  no  orders  nowadays  for  books 
like  Walter  Rothschild's,  or  Millais'  "Wild  Game,"  no 
unlimited  commissions.  But  Sebastian's  announcement 
made  everything  appear  more  hopeful.  The  days  of 
hand-made  paper  no  longer  seemed  numbered,  no  Amer- 
ican enterprise  seemed  now  to  be  knocking  at  the  door 
of  established  interests. 

David  had  his  hour;  it  was  characteristic  of  him  to 
shorten  it  through  consideration  of  others  than  himself. 

"But  what  will  your  mother  say?"  There  was  the 
question  that  took  the  savour  from  his  new  happiness. 
Sebastian  met  it  easily. 

"There  will  be  a  row,  of  course,"  he  said,  easily;  the 
"row"  would  be  half  the  fun.  Sebastian  understood, 
little  less  clearly  than  David,  with  what  contempt  Va- 
nessa regarded  the  source  of  her  luxuries.  And  her 
ambitions  for  her  son  were  a  no  less  open  secret. 


SEBASTIAN  107 

"But  she  has  got  a  lot  of  common  sense,"  he  urged. 
"She  will  give  in  when  she  knows  my  mind  is  made  up. 
She  had  set  her  heart  on  my  staying  on  at  Eton,  and 
going  in  for  the  Newcastle,  but  I  soon  brought  her  over 
to  my  way  of  thinking.  Don't  you  worry  about  the 
mater,  you  leave  it  to  me;  I  can  manage  her." 

But  David  had  his  misgivings,  his  deep  misgivings. 
Vanessa  despised  P.  and  A.  Kendall  and  Co.  He  could 
not  help  being  cheered  and  encouraged  by  Sebastian, 
but  his  great  content  was  troubled. 

It  was  finally  decided  between  the  two  that  Vanessa 
was  not  to  be  told  for  the  moment.  Her  mind  was  full 
of  the  new  book,  and  it  was  not  fair  to  distract  her 
further.  The  news  could  wait.  Meanwhile  David 
thought  Sebastian  should  pay  his  visit  to  Scotland,  he 
should  take  some  holiday  before  starting  work,  the  new 
gun  must  be  used. 

Before  Sebastian  left  his  father  that  night,  David 
tried  to  tell  him  what  he  had  been  to  him.  Sebastian 
wanted  his  father  to  know  he  was  glad  of  the  chance 
of  showing  his  love  and  his  gratitude.  But  neither  of 
them  found  the  right  words. 

"We'll  work  the  old  show  into  a  boom,  won't  we?" 
said  Sebastian,  as  he  leant  over  and  kissed  him  good- 
night. "You'll  call  it  P.  and  A.  Kendall  and  Son?  I 
suppose  I  shall  be  a  partner?" 

"Well,  not  all  at  once."  David  smiled  again,  but 
he  was  very  moved.  "We  mustn't  hurt  your  uncles' 
feelings." 

"They  will  be  jolly  glad  to  have  me,  they  said." 

"The  partnership  will  come  in  time." 


108  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian  fortunately  spared  him  the  motor,  the 
mahogany,  and  the  commissionaires,  so  that  David, 
in  another  sleepless  night,  had  only  Vanessa's  reception 
of  the  news  to  trouble  him. 

For  the  next  few  days,  however,  the  matter  remained 
in  abeyance.  The  first  chapter  progressed,  Stella's  con- 
valescence required  all  of  Vanessa  that  could  be  spared 
from  the  book,  and  father  and  son  were  practically  left 
to  each  other. 

Sebastian  grew  in  intimacy  with  his  father  in  these 
days.  The  deeper  he  saw  into  David's  mind,  the  more 
definite  grew  his  allegiance.  David  expounded  his  com- 
mercial creed.  Sincerity,  punctuality,  an  open  and 
honest  profit,  were  the  basis  of  it.  Commercial  integ- 
rity was  religion  to  him.  No  consideration  of  gain 
must  alter  the  standard,  the  name  must  shine  clear. 
The  word  of  P.  and  A.  Kendall  stood,  and  must  stand, 
for  more  than  the  bond  of  any  other  firm.  Proudly  he 
told  of  connections  of  thirty  years  where  there  had 
never  been  a  contract,  nor  pen  put  to  paper. 

"It  is  enough  when  we  say  we  will  undertake  to 
supply  a  certain  quality,  or  on  a  certain  date.  They 
never  bind  us  down,  none  of  our  customers  treat  us  as 
they  do  other  people  with  whom  they  have  dealings." 
He  mentioned  various  houses,  and  dilated  upon  his 
standing  with  them.  Vanessa  might  have  despised  all 
this  talk  and  pride,  but  it  held  Sebastian. 

He  went  twice  with  his  father  to  the  City,  and  en- 
joyed his  new  consequence  at  the  office,  and  the  new 
interest  of  his  uncles.  He  liked  them  to  talk  before 
him,  to  handle  the  samples  of  paper,  to  feel  he  was 


SEBASTIAN  109 

being  treated  as  a  man,  and  one  who  must  eventually 
inherit  all  the  knowledge  and  interests  they  had  ac- 
cumulated. That  which  had  at  first  been  an  honest 
sacrifice  of  inclination  assumed  a  different  aspect.  He 
was  enjoying  himself  in  his  unaccustomed  position.  His 
father  and  uncles  grew  at  times  quite  enthusiastic  over 
the  diplomacy  that  was  required,  the  tact  in  reconciling 
conflicting  interests,  and  satisfying  exacting  clients. 
He  heard  of  the  intrigues  of  competitors,  and  the  way 
to  combat  them,  the  intricacies  of  finance,  and  the 
mysteries  of  bills  of  exchange.  And  the  relation  of  this 
trade  warfare  made  a  new  man  of  David,  his  eyes 
brightened,  his  figure  was  more  alert,  he  grew  ani- 
mated, almost  well.  The  boy  wanted  to  begin  at  once. 
That  whatever  they  could  do,  he  would  do  better,  was 
ingrained  in  him.  And  what  an  audience  they  would 
make !  Already  he  saw  them  in  the  background,  ap- 
plauding. 

Vanessa,  waking  to  mundane  things  a  few  days  later, 
found  this  intimacy  between  father  and  son.  It  hurt, 
or  vexed  her,  somehow. 

She  was  dining  out  that  night,  and  whilst  she  was 
dressing,  she  analysed  her  feelings.  She  recognised 
that  her  jealousy  of  David  and  Sebastian  was  rather 
mean.  After  all,  they  were  father  and  son.  She 
must  not  allow  her  pride  in  the  boy,  and  his  Ventom 
inheritance,  to  hurt  David.  She  had  been  careless  of 
them  both  these  last  few  days.  There  is  something 
wonderful  about  a  first  chapter.  She  knew  it  had  ab- 
sorbed more  of  her  than  she  could  justly  spare.  But 
out  of  her  library  she  was  unaccountably  worried. 


110  SEBASTIAN 

Stella's  illness  had  sapped  her  nervous  system.  Stella 
understood  Vanessa.  Vanessa  prided  herself  that  she 
knew  Stella.  It  must  be  the  nervous  system,  because 
Stella,  who  had  borne  all  her  troubles  with  gaiety  of 
spirit,  and  light  humour,  had  been  depressed  this  time, 
had  admitted  to  secret  weeping,  had  asked  Vanessa  to 
give  her  what  time  she  could  spare. 

Stella's  pride  had  usually  forborne  to  urge  what 
Vanessa  was  always  glad  to  give.  But  lately  she  had 
not  forborne  to  show  that  she  needed  her  sister's  love. 

Vanessa  thought  of  all  these  things  as  she  dressed. 
She  became  even  more  convinced  that  a  novelist  should 
have  no  human  ties !  And  then,  with  an  irrational 
satisfaction,  she  remembered  Sebastian  was  going  with 
her  to  the  St.  Maurs'.  She  would  have  him  all  to  her- 
self in  the  brougham,  note  him  among  the  other  guests, 
feel  her  pride  in  possession.  She  thought  he  was  dis- 
tinguished-looking, his  evening-clothes  became  him. 
She  had  refused  the  invitation  for  herself  and  David. 
But  when  Mrs.  St.  Maur  had  written  that  her  son  would 
like  to  renew  his  acquaintance  with  Sebastian,  she  had 
cancelled  her,  refusal. 

"It  will  be  rather  a  bore,  won't  it?"  Sebastian  asked 
in  the  brougham. 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  think  you  may  enjoy  it.  The 
St.  Maurs  are  lion-hunters  in  a  small  way,  and  the 
asses'  skins  are  generally  humorously  prominent.  What 
have  you  been  doing  all  day  ?  I  am  sorry  I  have  been 
so  uncompanionable." 

"I've  been  to  the  City  with  the  pater." 

"To  the  City !"  she  repeated  in  surprise.  "I  thought 
you  were  there  last  week." 


SEBASTIAN  111 

"  Well !  the  pater  has  been  going  every  day  for  thirty 
odd  years." 

" The  pater!" 

But  the  brougham  had  drawn  up  at  the  St.  Maurs', 
and  he  had  no  time  to  tell  her  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  St.  Maurs  lived  in  Devonshire  Place,  in  a  large 
over-decorated,  over-furnished  house  permeated  by 
servants.  There  was  a  butler,  stout  as  an  archbishop, 
many  powdered  footmen,  velvet  breeched,  every  ap- 
purtenance that  could  proclaim  the  wealth  of  the  St. 
Maurs  was  supplied  with  a  lavish  hand.  They  were 
very  modern,  even  their  name  was  new.  Twelve  or 
fourteen  years  ago  it  had  been  Isaacs.  They  were  not, 
however,  typically  Isaacs;  any  more  than  they  were 
typically  St.  Maur.  They  were  cousins,  and  had  married 
for  love,  spending  their  first  years  together  in  poverty. 
How  they  had  acquired  wealth  was  something  of  a 
mystery.  A  sewing-machine  syndicate  that  went  into 
bankruptcy  can  hardly  have  accounted  for  the  whole 
of  it.  Yet  it  was  after  the  collapse  of  the  only  specu- 
lation in  which  Moritz  Isaacs  was  known  to  have  been 
engaged,  that  he  became  Hilary  St.  Maur,  and  moved 
from  Portsdown  Road,  to  Devonshire  Place,  where  the 
comedy  of  their  social  progress  was  played  to  an  ever- 
increasing  audience. 

Mrs.  St.  Maur  started  with  the  idea  that  their  medi- 
cal neighbours  must  be  propitiated.  She  underwent 
an  operation  for  an  appendicitis  the  necessity  for  which 
a  dose  of  salts  might  have  obviated.  She  took  a  rest 
cure  later  on,  on  the  advice  of  a  heart  specialist  who 

112 


SEBASTIAN  113 

had  captured  the  organ  of  a  popular  novelist,  and  be- 
come  the  hero  of  one  of  her  books.  Mrs.  St.  Maur  had 
the  harmless  tonsils  of  her  children  removed,  and  even 
invented  adenoids  for  them,  in  an  ambitious  moment. 
She  was  contemplating  inoculation  with  a  brand-new 
microbe,  to  cure  a  fortunate  boil  of  Hilary  St.  Maur, 
when  she  discovered  that,  socially,  the  Harley  Street 
medicos  had  no  status,  and  that  their  wives  had  no 
style ! 

Then  she  joined  a  Bridge  club,  and  revelled  for  a 
few  months  among  obscure  titles,  deeming  herself  very 
smart,  delighted  at  the  censure  of  Father  Vaughan. 
The  air  of  the  club  was  thick  with  scandal,  the  rela- 
tions between  the  lady  and  gentleman  secretary  more 
than  suspect  —  and  the  upshot  was  in  the  Law  Courts, 
unsavoury  and  conclusive.  This  cured  Mrs.  St.  Maur 
of  Bridge,  but  nothing  could  cure  her  of  the  wish  to 
rise. 

The  ambitions  of  the  St.  Maurs  were  wholly  ad- 
mirable. They  desired  to  be  considered  artistic,  liter- 
ary, and  above  all  things,  cultured.  Probably  the 
extraordinary  stupidity  of  Mrs.  St.  Maur  accounted 
for  the  final  illusion  that  they  had  attained  their  desire. 
She  talked  house  decoration  with  a  specious  gentleman, 
representing  an  Oxford  Street  firm,  and  the  white  walls 
and  carton  pierre  decorations  of  the  Devonshire  Place 
house  were  the  disastrous  result. 

She  bought  pictures  and  bronzes  on  the  same  advice, 
and  often  quoted  his  dicta  on  contemporary  art,  and 
artists.  He  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  Hon.  John 
Collier,  whose  flamboyant  portrait  of  Mrs.  St.  Maur 


114  SEBASTIAN 

pervaded  the  dining-room,  but  he  thought  nothing  at 
all  of  William  Nicholson,  or  James  Pryde,  whose  price- 
less drawings  of  the  two  children  were  consequently 
banished  to  the  schoolroom  ! 

The  Jew  is  always  a  collector,  however.  And  now 
the  St.  Maurs  collected  guests.  They  had  apparently 
no  friends,  and  they  had  risen  beyond  their  relations. 
The  people  they  gathered  around  their  hospitable  table 
were  a  heterogeneous  set  of  disconnected  individuals, 
bearing  names  one  knew  vaguely.  They  had  generally 
to  be  introduced  to  host  or  hostess,  coupled  with  an 
explanation. 

What  then  brought  Vanessa  Kendall  here? 

Sebastian,  in  his  very  early  days,  had  been  sent  to  a 
day  school  in  Somerset  Street,  where  Reginald  St. 
Maur  was  a  pupil.  Sebastian  had  been  asked  to  tea, 
to  a  children's  party,  Mrs.  St.  Maur  had  called  upon 
Vanessa.  But  the  acquaintance  had  made  little  prog- 
ress, the  desire  for  it  was  so  completely  one-sided. 
Dr.  Gifford  attended  both  households,  and  that  was 
something  of  a  link.  The  boys  were  together  again  at 
their  preparatory  school.  They  were  not  friends,  there 
was  as  little  in  common  between  them  as  between  their 
parents,  but  they  knew  each  other.  And  it  became 
increasingly  difficult  to  decline  invitations,  couched  in 
terms  such  as  these: 

"I  am  sure,  dear  Mrs.  Rendall,  you  would  like  to 
meet  your  sister  novelist,  Mrs.  D'Ekroyd  Baker,  who 
is  longing  to  make  your  acquaintance  ..."  or,  "I  do 
hope  you  are  disengaged  this  day  month.  Mr.  Grotz, 
who,  as  you  know,  has  painted  the  great  religious  picture 


SEBASTIAN  115 

of  the  century,  is  honouring  us  with  his  company  ..." 
or,  "We  have  been  so  unfortunate  until  now  with  our 
dates.  Can  you  join  us  on  the  15th?  Reggie  is  home 
from  Harrow  and  would  so  like  to  meet  Sebastian  again. 
You  say  your  husband  is  an  invalid,  and  rarely  dines 
out,  will  you  not  bring  your  son  instead?  Lady  de 
Cliffe  is  coming,  her  husband  is  the  great  pigeon 
shot.  .  .  ." 

The  velvet-breeched,  powdered  footman  passed  the 
names  from  one  to  another,  and  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Kendall 
were  duly  announced  to  a  drawing-room  of  which  the 
prevailing  feature  was  white  plaster  ornamentation. 
The  walls  were  panelled  in  crimson  satin,  and  formed 
the  background  for  a  number  of  people  in  the  wrong 
clothes,  awkward  in  their  carriage,  disconnected  in  their 
grouping,  giving  a  general  impression  of  being  hired  for 
the  occasion,  of  not  being  "society"  in  the  ordinary 
acceptation  of  the  word.  From  these  groups  there 
emerged  a  fluffy  hostess  in  glasses,  an  extravagantly 
thin  host,  also  in  glasses,  a  diminutive  dark  son,  and 
an  extraordinarily  fat  girl  of  about  sixteen,  who,  it 
may  be  incidentally  mentioned,  was  banished  to  the 
schoolroom  before  dinner  was  served. 

Mrs.  St.  Maur  was  a  little  overwhelming  in  her  grati- 
tude to  Vanessa  for  honouring  them  with  her  presence. 
Mrs.  St.  Maur  had  an  affected  voice,  and  too  much 
manner.  Arthur  St.  Maur  was  so  gentlemanly  that  one 
would  have  taken  him  for  a  gentleman  if  he  would  have 
misbehaved  himself  ever  so  slightly.  He,  too,  had 
adopted  his  wife's  high  falsetto  voice,  and  he  shook 
hands  from  an  angle  that  had  been  fashionable  in  '94. 


116  SEBASTIAN 

Sportsmanship  was  his  speciality ;  having  skated  several 
times  at  Olympia,  he  considered  himself  an  Olympian 
athlete. 

"Do  you  play  golf?"  he  asked  Vanessa,  as  he  offered 
her  his  arm.  "  No  ?  Then  I  suppose  you  hunt,  or  per- 
haps you  play  croquet;  croquet  is  becoming  quite  a 
fashionable  amusement?  I  saw  the  other  day  that 
Lady  Aline  Summers  had  taken  part  in  a  tournament !" 

"Mind  you  keep  Mrs.  Rendall  amused,"  Mrs.  St. 
Maur  had  said. 

Vanessa,  taking  stock  of  her  surroundings,  began  to 
think  he  need  not  make  much  effort. 

Sebastian  and  Reggie  had  nodded  to  each  other  with 
the  non-committal  air  of  the  public  school  boy,  taking 
in  each  other's  "get  up,"  at  a  glance. 

"He  is  sidey,  a  regular  Etonian,"  Reggie  thought, 
being  an  Harrovian,  and  used  to  having  his  thoughts 
ready  made  for  him. 

"  Got  his-  father's  beak,  and  promises  to  inherit  his 
mother's  figure;  poor  little  beast!  I  must  be  civil  to 
him,"  was  Sebastian's  reflection.  They  went  in  to 
dinner  together,  and  hated  it. 

The  table  was  laden  with  exotic  flowers,  a  miniature 
fountain  sent  up  continual  sprays  of  scent.  There  was 
a  bouquet  of  pink  roses  for  every  lady,  and  a  button- 
hole of  lilies  for  every  gentleman.  The  table  linen  was 
heavily  inlaid  with  lace,  all  the  glass  was  Venetian,  and 
the  dinner  service  was  of  gold,  luxury  seemed  to  have 
said  its  last  word. 

The  company  upon  which  it  was  lavished  seemed 
strange  in  such  surroundings.  Vanessa  listened  to  her 


SEBASTIAN  117 

host,  his  dark  face  inclined  deferentially  to  her;  he 
was  trying  to  find  her  taste.  He  was  ready  to  enthuse 
on  any  subject,  would  meet  her  views,  or  opinions, 
speak  in  praise  of  Catholicism,  or  of  the  ingenuity  of 
the  three  card  trick.  He  was  there  to  make  himself 
agreeable  to  the  guest  of  the  evening.  He  tried  every- 
thing but  silence.  Yet  that  would  have  best  pleased 
Vanessa,  who  was  interested  in  the  mise  en  scene.  She 
could  just  see  Sebastian  at  the  other  end  of  the  table. 
He  was  not  talking  to  Reggie;  he  looked  bored,  but 
nodded  to  her,  and  raised  his  wine  glass. 

There  was  an  Irish  novelist  who  looked  like  a  lob- 
worm, and  a  minor  poet,  long-haired  and  hungry. 
Both  these  Vanessa  knew,  but  the  majority  of  the 
other  diners  were  strange  to  her.  When  she  found  her 
host  liked  to  be  asked  who  was  this,  or  the  other,  and 
was  proud  of  his  guests,  she  had  no  hesitation  in  satis- 
fying her  curiosity.  She  learned  that  the  lady  with  a 
red  nose,  and  a  number  of  gold  hairpins  holding  to- 
gether an  untidy  yellow  wig,  wrote  wonderful  serials  for 
the  Evening  Meteor,  and  that  the  little  fair  man  with 
the  waxed  moustache  was  the  author  of  the  most  suc- 
cessful novel  of  the  season.  She  had  never  heard  of 
this  successful  novel,  but  surveyed  its  author  with  the 
interest  her  host  seemed  to  expect.  There  was  a  lady 
in  an  1889  tea-gown,  who,  she  was  told,  composed 
acrostics,  and  an  Indian  in  native  dress  who,  it  was 
understood,  would  presently  recite.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
George  S  terry  were  stars,  in  their  way,  and  so  was 
Miss  Margaret  Stiltson.  But  the  St.  Maurs  knew  now 
that  the  social  vogue  of  the  actor  and  actress  was  no 


118  SEBASTIAN 

greater  than  that  of  the  doctors'  wives,  and  her  host 
mentioned  these  apologetically. 

Vanessa  became  aware,  presently,  of  a  pair  of  green, 
iridescent  eyes  surveying  her  with  some  interest.  She 
saw  a  fair  head,  that  had  evidently  been  dressed  by  a 
good  hairdresser,  a  green  and  gold  bodice  that  meant 
Jay's  or  Paquin,  of  a  superb  chain  of  uncut  emeralds. 

"Who  is  the  little  lady  in  green,  with  the  emeralds?" 

"That  is  Lady  Hilda  de  Cliff e.  Her  husband  is  a 
famous  shot,  she  is  a  great  favourite  with  a  Royal 
Prince !"  He  dropped  his  voice  when  he  conveyed  this 
information. 

After  the  long  dinner  was  over,  all  the  extravagance 
of  the  menu  discussed  and  ended,  Vanessa  found  herself 
interested  only  in  the  Prince's  favourite. 

Lady  Hilda  had  preceded  her  hostess  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  lent  but  a  careless  ear  to  her  gush.  She 
sank  into  the  most  luxurious  chair  the  room  commanded, 
and  said,  so  that  anybody  might  hear: 

"  Who  is  the  woman  in  black  cr&pe  de  chine  f  I  want 
to  talk  to  her;  bring  her  over  to  me." 

It  was  superfluous  for  Mrs.  St.  Maur  to  explain  to 
Vanessa  that  Lady  Hilda  desired  an  introduction.  It 
was  a  custom  of  the  house  for  the  host  and  hostess  to 
find  themselves  ignored.  Vanessa  and  Hilda  smiled  at 
each  other,  the  rapprochement  was  effected  without 
words. 

"It  is  a  treat  to  meet  a  frock  like  yours  in  this  rag- 
bag, or  to  see  a  woman  walk  across  the  room  as  if  she 
had  a  parr  of  legs  that  matched,"  was  Lady  de  Cliff e's 
unconventional  beginning. 


SEBASTIAN  119 

Vanessa  had  indeed  a  charming  figure,  and  held  her 
well-shaped  head  erect,  her  dark  eyes  were  very  bright, 
and  she  looked  young  for  her  years.  The  dark  hair, 
with  its  one  white  strand,  was  surmounted  by  a  diamond 
coronet,  of  exquisite  workmanship.  Vanessa  nad  the 
dress  instinct,  although  her  attractiveness  was  inde- 
pendent of  her  clothes.  She  liked  none  but  simple 
things,  and  by  definitely  adopting,  and  keeping  true  to 
her  standard,  she  achieved  an  asceticism  informed  by 
distinction.  Hilda  admired  her,  and  told  her  so,  quite 
frankly,  after  a  few  commonplaces  had  been  exchanged. 
But  Hilda  de  Cliffe  had  little  traffic  with  the  common- 
place. 

"Mrs.  St.  Maur  has  just  told  me  who  you  are.  Do 
you  know  that  I  have  all  your  books,  bound  in  very 
light  grey,  undressed  leather,  with  hammered  silver 
corners?  I  never  can  read  a  novel  until  it  has  been 
rebound,  can  you?" 

"I  am  your  exact  antithesis.  I  must  have  my 
modern  literature  quite  fresh,  preferably  in  MSS.,  at  the 
worst  in  proof.  All  my  publishers  indulge  my  idio- 
syncrasies, and  send  me  their  books  before  publication." 

"I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  about  your  books;  are 
you  very  sensitive  about  them?  " 

"Not  inordinately,  I  think." 

"The  woman  novelist  bores  me  to  tears.  But  your 
novels  are  so  extraordinarily  sexless  that  they  interested 
me.  I  only  came  here  to-night  because  I  heard  you  were 
coming,  and  I  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  to  get  at  your 
secret." 

"My  secret?" 


120  SEBASTIAN 

"Yes!  I  suppose  you  did  not  know  you  had  one! 
Looking  at  you,  I  find  it  fairly  simple  to  guess.  You 
are  demi  vierge;  you  have  never  loved,  nor  suffered,  nor 
lived  intensely  for  one  single  hour.  You  are  virtuous, 
simple.  .  .  ." 

She  uttered  her  impertinences  with  such  a  charming 
air  that  Vanessa,  although  she  flushed,  was  not  really 
offended. 

"Did  my  books  tell  you  all  this?" 

"They  told  me  a  great  deal  of  it.  It  is  unusual  to 
find  so  much  paradox,  and  so  little  humanity,  in  an 
English  novel.  Of  course  it  is  all  right  for  me,  I  like 
that  sort  of  thing,  it  is  such  a  change.  You  see,  7  live, 
all  the  time  I  live."  One  could  not  look  at  her  red  lips, 
and  smiling  eyes,  the  invitation  of  her,  and  doubt  it. 
"I  believe  you  are  worse  than  innocent,  you  are  ig- 
norant." She  laughed  delightedly  at  having  discovered 
it. 

Vanessa  had  not  had  much  to  endure  in  the  way  of 
criticism.  She  had  ever  been  one  of  the  spoilt  children 
of  the  press.  In  the  first  place,  she  knew  the  right 
people,  in  the  second,  it  had  become  a  habit  with  the 
literary  journals  to  praise  the  finished  workmanship, 
the  undeniable  style,  and  technique,  of  the  daughter  of 
John  Hepplewight-Ventom.  Her  small,  eclectic  public 
remained  always  faithful.  There  was  intellect  in  her 
novels.  Hilda  described  them: 

"  They  are  morally  restful ;  all  phrase  and  no  feeling. 
We  smile,  but  we  never  laugh,  we  are  told  of  emotions, 
but  there  is  no  throb,  the  refinement  of  your  men  and 
women  characterises  every  conversation,  and  cramps 


SEBASTIAN  121 

every  situation.  It  is  extraordinarily  clever  of  you  to 
have  avoided  dulness.  For  nothing  is  so  dull  in  real 
life  as  well-bred  men  and  women  who  'retain  their 
composure  under  any  stress  of  feeling.' "  She  quoted 
the  words  mockingly. 

"Stressful  moments  are  few.  Good  manners  tell  all 
the  time." 

"You  are  quite  good-looking,"  the  other  said,  medi- 
tatively. "I  wonder  ...  I  wonder  no  man  has  ever 
startled,  or  taught  you  the  things  that  are  not  in  your 
books." 

Vanessa  flushed  again: 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you,  I  thought  you  knew ;  I  am 
married;  I  have  a  grown-up  son,  he  is  here  with  me  to- 
night." 

Hilda  de  Cliffe  burst  out  laughing. 

"I  believe  you  must  have  been  to  Girton.  There  is 
nothing  between  that,  and  suburbanism,  to  account  for 
you !  And  your  clothes  redeem  you  from  the  last 
reproach.  Dear  woman,  I  like  you,  I  want  to  see  more 
of  you.  You  must  come  and  visit  me  in  Curzon  Street." 

"I  should  like  to,"  Vanessa  answered,  impulsively, 
although  already  her  circle  of  acquaintances  was  very 
large,  and  she  was  not  given  to  promiscuous  calling. 

"And  introduce  me  to  your  son.  You  are  much  too 
young  to  have  a  grown-up  son.  I  suppose  he  has  been 
neglected,  and  is  gauche  and  impossible,  hairy  and  ill- 
mannered.  I  am  always  so  sorry  for  the  children  of 
clever  women.  I  knew  two  girls  once,  whose  mother 
was  an  M.D.  and  a  militant  suffragette.  They  came  to 
a  party  at  Lord  Pomfort's,  my  step-father-in-law,  you 


122  SEBASTIAN 

know.  Good  Heavens  !  I  can  see  them  now;  in  filthy, 
dirty  dresses  that  looked  as  if  they  came  out  of  a  theatri- 
cal wardrobe,  white  cotton  stockings,  one  with  a  hole, 
green  satin  slippers  down  at  heel.  Ugh !  Yes,  I  must 
see  your  son." 

Vanessa  could  afford  to  smile.  She  stayed  beside  her 
strange  fellow-guest  until  the  men  came  up. 

Hilda  caught  the  quick  glance  that  flashed  between 
her  and  Sebastian. 

"Impossible!"  she  exclaimed. 

"It  really  is." 

"  But  he  has  quite  an  air." 

"His  grandfather  was  John  Hepplewight-Ventom," 
she  answered,  simply. 

"I  know.  But  he  has  been  brought  up  by  a  female 
novelist!" 

Sebastian,  slender  and  graceful,  his  clothes  well  put 
on,  and  his  manner  completely  assured,  approached. 

"And  so  you  really  are  Mr.  Kendall,"  Hilda  began, 
caressingly,  putting  out  a  jewelled  hand. 

"Was  there  ever  any  doubt  about  it?  "  he  answered, 
dropping  easily  into  a  chair  beside  her. 

"Lady  de  Cliffe  thinks  you  must  have  been  neglected." 

"I  have  suffered  just  the  other  way,"  he  said  lightly. 
"I  have  had  too  much  attention." 

"Unlike  your  mother,"  she  said,  mischievously,  "who 
tells  me  she  has  had  none." 

Sebastian  looked  up  inquiringly.  But  Arthur  St. 
Maur  bore  down  upon  them. 

"I  want  you  to  come  into  the  other  room  with  me. 
Mademoiselle  Nigaska  is  just  going  to  begin;  she  is 
giving  us  an  Indian  love  song."  » 


SEBASTIAN  123 

Hilda  refused  to  move.  She  said  she  wanted  to  talk 
to  Mr.  Kendall.  Sebastian  was  more  than  satisfied  to 
remain.  Lady  Hilda  reminded  him  of  Pleasey.  He 
wished  he  could  see  Pleasey  dressed  like  this;  he  was 
sure  she  had  more  hair,  a  better  figure. 

On  their  way  home  Vanessa  asked  him  what  had  been 
the  subject  of  their  conversation. 

"She  talks  like  the  people  in  your  books,"  was  his 
summary,  after  attempting  a  synopsis,  and  failing  to 
satisfy  himself.  He  added:  "I  rather  like  it.  Who  is 
she?  she  asked  me  to  come  and  see  her.  Thundering 
good  dinner,  wasn't  it?  Reggie  is  Harrow  all  over,  a 
regular  little  bounder." 

"You  were  not  bored  then?  " 

"  No !  I  liked  that  hot  lobster  stuff  in  the  gold  sauce- 
pans. The  asparagus  ice  was  good,  too.  I  say,  they 
must  have  tons  of  money.  I  suppose  Reggie  will  get 
the  lot.  He  talks  of  nothing  but  girls.  I  promised  to 
introduce  him  to  Bice;  she'll  teach  him  what  he  looks 
like."  Then  he  yawned. 

"I  wonder  what  the  pater  has  been  doing?  " 

"Also  yawning,  probably,"  she  replied,  smiling. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SEBASTIAN  had  not  yet  broken  his  great  news  to  his 
mother.  It  was  difficult  to  obtain  her  undivided  atten- 
tion, she  was  absorbed  in  the  opening  chapters  of  the 
new  book.  He  might  have  told  her  on  the  night  of  the 
St.  Maurs'  dinner,  but  the  moment  seemed  inappropriate. 

He  talked  about  it  with  his  father,  and  David,  weak 
himself,  and  dreading  the  moment,  counselled  delay. 

"You  are  going  to  take  a  few  days'  shooting  before 
you  start  work.  Wait  until  you  come  back.  There  is 
no  hurry.  Perhaps  by  then  Aunt  Stella  will  be  out  of 
town,  the  first  chapters  finished,  and  everything  easier." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  Oh !  never  mind  about  me.  I  am  all  right  again, 
perhaps  I  will  go  away  for  a  little,  later  on.  Uncle  Will- 
iam is  having  a  fortnight  now.  Uncle  John  ought  to 
have  a  change." 

"The  mater  is  going  on  a  round  of  visits  in  Sep- 
tember, she  tells  me.  Why  don't  you  go  with  her? 
I'll  be  back  by  then;  I'll  take  your  place  in  Queen 
Victoria  Street.  I  shall  know  all  about  it  in  next  to  no 
time." 

"We  shall  see." 

David  was  nervously  anxious  for  Sebastian  to  take  a 
holiday,  nervously  anxious  to  put  off  the  communication 
to  his  mother ;  full  of  thought  for  every  one  but  himself. 

124 


SEBASTIAN  125 

Sebastian  was  stocked,  and  over-stocked,  with  clothes 
and  money.  He  had  ammunition  enough  to  decimate 
a  moor.  Waterproof  leggings  were  purchased,  and  all 
the  necessities  and  gear  for  duck  shooting,  and  grouse 
driving,  deer  stalking,  and  every  conceivable  form  of 
sport !  That  he  eventually  missed  a  rabbit,  and  peppered 
a  keeper,  never  became  public.  But  at  least  he  re- 
frained from  boasting  of  his  exploits. 

Vanessa  used  his  absence  to  finish  her  first  and  second 
chapters.  She  was  habitually  a  slow  writer.  When 
she  had  packed  off  Stella  to  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  Se- 
bastian to  the  moors,  she  could  devote  herself  with  an 
easy  mind  to  the  embroglio  she  was  bringing  about  in 
"Between  the  Nisi  and  the  Absolute."  David  knew  how 
to  keep  out  of  her  way. 

Only  one  incident  disturbed  her  working  hours.  And 
that  was  a  visit  to  Lady  de  Cliffe.  She  had  called,  the 
day  after  the  party  at  the  St.  Maurs',  leaving  her  own 
and  Sebastian's  cards.  A  week  later  she  received  a 
hurried  scrawl,  saying  the  writer  was  ill,  and  yearned  to 
see  Vanessa  again,  begging  her  to  come  and  sit  with  her. 
She  added,  naively,  that  every  one  else  was  out  of  town. 
It  was  the  candour  of  it  that  appealed  to  Vanessa. 

She  walked  to  Curzon  Street  that  afternoon.  Lady 
de  Cliffe  lived  in  a  narrow,  ill-built  house,  with  a  blue 
door.  It  was  next  but  one  to  a  public-house,  and  the 
aroma  from  the  licensed  premises  came  to  Vanessa  as  she 
stood  on  the  step.  A  foreign  man-servant  let  her  in, 
with  apparent  reluctance.  She  was  shown  into  the 
white-painted,  meretricious  drawing-room,  to  find  her 
hostess  alone,  huddled  up  over  the  fire,  looking  ill, 


126  SEBASTIAN 

rather  dishevelled,  altogether  different  from  her  expecta- 
tions. The  house,  too,  was  a  shock,  everything  about  the 
narrow  hall,  and  the  staircase,  hung  with  caricatures 
and  sporting  prints,  seemed  out  of  keeping  with  the 
brilliant  little  woman,  who  had  talked  so  entertainingly 
of  modern  literature. 

Lady  de  Cliffe,  however,  was  undoubtedly  pleased  to 
see  her  visitor;  she  made  her  sit  by  the  fire,  and  in- 
structed the  soiled  foreigner  to  bring  up  tea  imme- 
diately, and  to  say  she  was  out,  should  any  one  call. 

"Isn't  this  house  dreadful?"  she  asked  Vanessa, 
almost  in  the  first  breath.  "We  took  it,  furnished, 
five  years  ago.  I  dislike  it  so  much  that  I  have  never 
been  able  to  give  it  up.  It  belongs  to  that  woman 
who  kidnapped  Lord  Loftus;  you  know  who  I  mean, 
Rothwell's  eldest  son.  She  was  forty  something,  and 
he  was  nineteen.  Her  first  husband  was  a  brewer, 
but  she  is  not  even  wealthy.  Rothwell  was  delighted, 
there  is  something  wrong  about  the  boy,  I  don't  know 
exactly  what,  and  she  takes  care  of  him.  He  is  never 
likely  to  have  children,  so  the  succession  is  secured  for 
the  second  son,  whom  his  father  adores.  Loftus  gets  an 
infinitesimal  allowance,  and  she  travels  about  with  the 
title,  and  keeps  him  out  of  mischief,  and  always  en 
evidence.  This  is  her  house.  Did  you  notice  the  cari- 
catures? they  are  cut  out  of  illustrated  papers.  In  my 
bedroom  there  are  some  Christmas  numbers,  framed, 
and  all  'dear  Marie  Corelli's  '  books  are  in  that  case!  " 

She  indicated  a  white  painted  cupboard,  the  top 
decorated  with  modern  Dresden  figures.  The  white, 
machine-made  furniture  was  upholstered  in  light  blue 


SEBASTIAN  127 

damask.  The  curtains  matched  it,  the  carpet  had  a 
blue  centre,  and  a  border  of  pink  roses.  Everything  was 
hideously  en  suite. 

"I  suppose  you  wonder  how  I  can  live  here?  Hugh 
cannot  bear  the  place,  he  has  only  slept  one  night  in  it, 
in  five  years." 

"That  must  be  dull  for  you." 

Vanessa  was  out  of  her  surroundings,  a  little  at  sea, 
it  was  all  new  to  her.  She  was  attracted,  repelled,  but 
above  all  things  interested.  She  had  never  before  met 
any  one  so  like  the  people  she  invented.  Hilda,  al- 
though she  was  shivering  over  the  fire,  obviously  de- 
pressed and  out  of  spirits,  roused  herself  to  laugh  at  the 
suggestion  that  she  must  be  dull  without  her  husband. 

"  Oh !  Hugh  and  I  hardly  ever  meet ;  we  agree  so 
marvellously  that  we  are  afraid  to  spoil  it.  He  is  gen- 
erally racing,  when  I'm  in  London;  or,  perhaps,  it  is 
baccarat,  and  pigeons.  He  is  always  busy.  I  met  him 
last  year  at  Monte  Carlo.  I  rather  think  he  had  a  lady 
with  him,  for  he  was  horribly  distrait,  and  afraid  lest  my 
feelings  should  be  hurt !  I  lent  him  my  jewellery  to  pay 
her  off,  he  told  me  she  was  spoiling  his  shooting  average." 

The  advent  of  tea  for  the  time  stopped  the  confi- 
dences. The  tea  was  abominably  served,  and  of  in- 
ferior quality.  Every  time  Vanessa  got  up  to  go  Hilda 
begged  her  to  remain.  She  went  on  talking: 

"No,  I'm  not  really  ill,"  this  was  in  response  to  a 
question,  "but  I  got  hopelessly  bored  at  Newmarket, 
and  Hugh  insisted  on  calling  in  the  village  idiot,  who 
practises  medicine  in  that  part.  He  practised  on  me  to 
such  an  extent  that  I  ran  away.  He  took  the  liberty  of 


128  SEBASTIAN 

suggesting  I  had  appendicitis.  I  believe  he  would  have 
insisted  on  that  disfiguring  operation  if  I  had  stayed  in 
bed  another  hour.  I  came  to  town,  and  saw  Dr.  Gif- 
ford.  .  .  ." 

"My  Dr.  Gifford?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  he  is  yours,  I  rather  thought 
he  was  mine.  He  asked  me  whether  I  had  ever  been  a 
victim  of  the  morphia  habit."  She  shot  an  enquiring 
glance  at  Vanessa,  but  obviously  no  whisper  had  reached 
her.  "I  was  in  bed,  but  he  said  he  would  have  me  on 
the  sofa  in  a  day  or  two.  Wasn'  t  it  enterprising  of  him  ? ' ' 

Half  of  Hilda's  talk  went  over  Vanessa's  head,  but  the 
other  half  proved  stimulating.  It  was  a  new  sensation 
to  meet  her  brain  children  in  the  flesh.  Hilda  seemed 
only  that,  and  she  liked  hearing  her  talk. 

Lady  de  Cliffe  said  she  had  only  once  before  met  a 
living  English  novelist.  She  was  full  of  anecdotes 
about  this  poor  lady.  The  wife  of  a  surgeon,  deaf, 
and  a  "typsomaniac,"  she  lived  in  lodgings  in  a  back 
street  in  Mayfair,  and  rented  a  room,  occasionally,  at 
Westgate-on-Sea.  Her  cards  were -printed  "Mrs.  Her- 
bert Mathieson-Barnes,  Howard  House,  Mayfair.  Ab- 
botsford,  Isle  of  Thanet." 

This  woman,  red-haired,  ungrammatical,  and  unsuc- 
cessful, was  of  course  well  known  to  Vanessa,  who  had 
often  felt  sorry  for  her  idiosyncrasies,  pretensions,  and 
poverty.  She  had  not  known  of  the  cards,  and  the 
assumption  of  a  house  in  Mayfair,  an  estate  in  the 
country,  although  she  knew  that,  having  neither  birth 
nor  breeding,  Mrs.  Barnes  laid  large  claim  to  both. 
Hilda  posed  her  in  a  new  light,  much  more  entertaining. 


SEBASTIAN  129 

After  that  day,  Vanessa  and  Lady  de  Cliffe  fell  into 
something  approaching  intimacy,  their  incompatibility 
of  temperament  making  their  superficial  congeniality 
more  piquant.  Hilda  discovered  the  puritan  under  the 
paradoxist,  anticipating  a  day  of  shock.  Vanessa 
found  herself  on  strange  ground,  with  which  she  felt 
herself  mysteriously,  or  half,  familiar,  as  if  she  had  been 
there  in  dreams. 

It  was  the  first  fortnight  in  August.  Parliament 
had  risen  late,  and  London  was  practically  empty.  With 
Sebastian  and  Stella  both  away,  Vanessa  had  unoc- 
cupied afternoons,  and  twice  she  drove  out  with  Lady 
de  Cliffe,  once  she  went  to  the  theatre  with  her.  The 
mornings  were  taken  up  with  the  book. 

David  had  no  such  compensation. 

David  Kendall,  all  through  that  hot  and  exhausting 
August,  remained  in  Harley  Street,  making  his  daily 
journey  to  the  City,  spending  his  solitary  hours  face  to 
face  with  an  emergency  that  taxed,  to  the  uttermost 
extent,  his  moral  and  his  physical  strength.  He  knew, 
far  better  than  Sebastian,  what  it  would  mean  to  Vanessa 
to  hear  that  all  her  ambitions  for  Sebastian  were  Dead 
Sea  fruit,  that  the  dreams  she  had  dreamed,  and  the 
brilliant  edifices  she  had  built  in  the  air,  were  to  be 
demolished ;  that  the  heir  of  all  the  ages,  the  pride  of  the 
Ventoms,  the  fine  flower  and  culmination  of  them,  as 
she  deemed,  and  rightly  deemed,  Sebastian,  was  to 
follow  in  the  despised  footsteps  of  his  father,  was  to  buy 
and  sell  in  the  market-place,  and  use  his  gifts  to  chaffer 
in  goods.  David's  love  for  her,  that  had  taught  him  to 
stand  out  of  her  path,  taught  him  also  how  hardly  she 


130  SEBASTIAN 

would  take  her  disappointment.  Vanessa  was  still  a 
girl  to  him,  and  it  was  true  there  was  no  maturity  of 
knowledge,  or  suffering  in  her.  She  had  only  lived 
in  books  and  dreams.  So  much  would  be  taken  from 
her  when  Sebastian's  future,  which  had  been  her  bright- 
est phantasmagoria  for  eighteen  contented  years,  faded 
into  obscurity.  David  had  wanted  to  give  her  every- 
thing, instead,  he  would  take  from  her  that  which  made 
her  life  complete,  the  pride  and  joy  of  her  maternity. 
He  knew  the  measure  of  Vanessa's  love  for  Sebastian. 
North,  south,  east,  and  west  it  was  bounded  by  her  am- 
bition for  him,  and  the  unstable  foundation  of  it  had  been 
the  Hepplewight-Ventom  tradition. 

David  had  an  intense  longing  for  the  boy's  com- 
panionship, a  yearning  that  was  almost  painful,  to  have 
him  for  the  house  of  Kendall.  He  guessed  how  short  a 
time  was  before  him  in  which  to  wind  up  his  affairs. 
And  they  were  not  prosperous,  they  were  not  as  they 
seemed  on  the  surface.  Business  was  altering,  growing 
more  difficult,  there  were  new  methods,  and  new  men, 
with  whom  to  compete.  P.  and  A.  Kendall  had  not 
moved  with  the  times,  and  now  the  rushing  feet  of  time 
would  not  lag  for  them  to  make  fresh  headway. 

Vanessa  must  have  her  luxuries,  and  Sebastian  his. 
David  Kendall,  in  his  bachelor  days,  had  been  a  man  of 
large  charities,  and  these  he  could  never  abandon. 
The  income  to  meet  expenditure  had  been  earned,  but 
little  or  nothing  had  been  added  to  capital.  And  his 
days  were  numbered.  No  man  knew  the  number  of  them. 
He  had  demanded  the  truth  of  Dr.  Gifford.  Reluctantly, 
for  it  was  not  the  nature  of  David  Kendall  to  be  peremp- 


SEBASTIAN  131 

tory,  and  here  he  had  been  insistent,  Dr.  Gifford  had 
been  forced  to  admit  that  it  was  not  indigestion  from 
which  David  Kendall  was  suffering,  nor  premature  old 
age,  but  a  well-known,  easily  diagnosed,  lesion  of  the 
heart. 

"  You  may  live  until  you  are  seventy,  you  may  die  at 
any  moment.  You  force  me  to  tell  you,  and  that  is  the 
exact  truth.  You  can  see  as  many  consultants  as  you 
like.  I  will  go  with  you  to  Sir  Thomas  Barlock,  or  Dr. 
Badminton,  or  Greentree,  or  you  can  go  alone.  But 
none  of  them  will  tell  you  anything  different,  if  they  are 
honest  with  you.  Valvular  disease,  that  is  the  name  by 
which  the  public  know  your  complaint,"  he  gave  him  a 
brief  technical  description.  "I  have  seen  a  man,  with 
valvular  disease  of  the  heart,  live  to  be  seventy-four. 
I've  known  another,  differing  from  him  in  no  appreciable 
way,  die  in  his  carriage  on  the  way  home  from  my 
consulting  room;  fortunately  before  my  prescription 
was  made  up!" 

"I  am  grateful  to  you  for  your  candour,"  David  had 
said,  steadily,  after  a  moment's  pause.  He  looked  at 
grey  death,  but  the  shadowy  one  had  no  terror  for  him. 
Only  in  the  depths  lay  reflected  the  faces  of  his  beloved, 
of  Vanessa  and  Sebastian,  it  was  they  death  must  not 
hurt. 

"You  are  a  brave  man,  David  Kendall." 

"No!  it  isn't  that.  I  know  she  will  be  as  well,  or 
better,  without  me,  I  have  done  nothing  for  her.  But 
the  boy  .  .  . "  his  eyes  were  a  little  dim,  he  did  not  want 
to  leave  the  boy. 

"That  boy  of  yours  will  grow  into  a  fine  fellow  if  you 


132  SEBASTIAN 

let  him  share  responsibility  with  you ;  you  will  attenuate 
him  if  you  give  him  nothing  but  himself  for  nourish- 
ment." 

"But  there  is  his  mother  to  think  of  first." 

Dr.  Gifford  had  never  seen  eye  to  eye  with  David 
as  to  Vanessa's  claims. 

"  I  should  not  let  his  mother's  views  weigh  too  heavily 
with  me,"  he  said,  drily,  "you  cannot  make  men  out  of 
paper  and  ink.  Mrs.  Kendall  is  a  novelist." 

"I  must  think  what  is  best  for  her,"  he  persisted. 

It  ended,  the  long  sleepless  nights,  the  long  solitary 
evenings,  all  the  thought,  and  well-nigh  desperate,  desire 
to  do  what  was  right  and  best  for  them  both,  in  David 
opening  his  heart  fully  to  his  son. 

He  wrote  Sebastian  a  letter,  the  boy  has  it  now,  it 
made  a  man  of  him,  although,  of  course,  the  material 
was  always  there.  It  told  him  his  mother  had  the  first 
claim  upon  him,  and  reminded  him  of  little  tender, 
childish  things.  It  said  that  if,  by  accident  or  illness, 
his  own  life  were  shortened,  it  was  true  he  could  not 
leave  them  enough  to  live  as  they  lived  now,  and  very 
humbly  it  entreated  Sebastian's  pardon  for  this.  He 
had  been  weak,  but  it  had  been  a  great  thing  for  him  when 
Vanessa  had  consented  to  be  his  wife,  she  needed  some 
compensation,  it  had  been  his  pride  and  happiness  to 
minister  to  her;  Sebastian  must  ever  feel  the  same. 
Now  it  came  to  him  that  Vanessa  would  miss  her  ambi- 
tion more  than  she  would  miss  any  other  luxury,  and  it 
was  only  luxuries  of  which  his  death  would  deprive  them, 
not  necessities.  He  had  therefore  decided  to  take  a 
short  holiday,  and  rest,  as  Dr.  Gifford  had  advised; 


SEBASTIAN  133 

after  which  he  felt  he  would  be  able  to  work  again,  for 
both  of  them.  He  was  " not  done  yet"  ;  he  would  work 
better  for  the  knowledge  that  Sebastian  had  wished  to  be 
with  him. 

"  We  can  talk  together  better  now,  my  dear  boy,  and  I 
shall  often  consult  you,  and  tell  you  all  I  am  doing. 
But  you  must  not  sacrifice  your  career,  nothing  could 
make  up  to  your  mother  for  that,  we  will  find  a  way 
out  of  the  money  difficulties  ..."  and  he  added  some- 
thing of  what  Sebastian's  sympathy  and  offer  had  meant 
to  him. 

Sebastian  had  a  fresh  glimpse  into  the  love  his  father 
bore  to  him  and  to  his  mother,  the  chivalry,  the  utter 
unselfishness  of  it. 

He  wrote  back,  in  his  unfinished  scrawl,  Etonian, 
and  illiterate. 

"DearGov. 

"Don't  rot  about  my  career;  it's  bound  up  in  P. 
and  A.  Kendall  and  Co.  (I  suppose  I'm  the  Co.  until  I 
get  to  be  a  partner?)  I'll  be  at  the  office  9.30  on  the 
25th  as  arranged,  and  I  expect  to  boss  the  show  in  about 
a  fortnight. 

"Don't  funk  about  the  mater,  leave  that  up  to 
me;  get  away  as  soon  as  you  like.  What  about  Nor- 
way ?  The  mater  has  never  laid  a  scene  on  one  of  these 
steamers.  I  should  think  she'd  like  something  new. 
She  could  chuck  her  autumn  visits;  she  doesn't  shoot. 
You  can  get  salmon  in  Norway  —  ripping  fun,  salmon 
fishing. 

"  By  the  way,  a  fellow  I've  met  here  says  if  I'm  going 


134  SEBASTIAN 

in  the  City  I  ought  to  have  a  rolled-top  desk,  and  some 
Shannon  files.    I  suppose  you'll  see  to  all  that. 
"  Love  to  the  firm.    So  long ! 
"Yours, 

"SEBASTIAN  KENDALL. 
"  (Pro  Messrs.  P.  and  A.  Rendall  and  Co.) 
"Pretty  quick  at  the  jargon,  aren't  I?" 


CHAPTER  X 

VANESSA  would  not  leave  London  until  Sebastian 
returned.  David  did  not  really  intend  to  go  away  at  all. 
Always  the  refrain  beat  itself  in  his  brain  that  his  time 
was  short;  there  was  so  much  to  do. 

Lady  de  Cliffe  left  London,  at  last,  for  Newmarket, 
after  exacting  a  promise  from  Vanessa  that  she  would  visit 
her  there  in  the  late  autumn.  Husband  and  wife  were 
left  to  the  intercourse  that  meant  a  greater  loneliness 
for  each  of  them  than  if  they  had  been  alone.  Their 
strained  silences,  their  yet  more  strained  conversation, 
set  a  note  of  gloom  about  the  house.  And  yet  there  was 
no  ill  will  in  either  of  them.  The  word  incompatibility 
covers  it  all.  Vanessa  wished  David  would  go  away 
and  enjoy  himself.  David  wished  every  good  thing  for 
his  wife ;  fame  and  fortune,  even  love.  But  for  Sebastian, 
he  had  had  no  gift  for  her.  Her  kindness  hurt  him,  the 
unspoken  criticisms  that  he  read  in  her  eyes,  when  he 
coughed,  or  moved  awkwardly,  or  spoke  of  what  could 
not  interest  her,  made  life  well-nigh  intolerable  to  him. 
But  for  Sebastian !  There  was  always  Sebastian's 
return  to  which  to  look  forward. 

Vanessa  announced  it  at  breakfast.  It  was  already 
the  22nd. 

"Sebastian  will  be  home  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
He  writes  me  he  has  something  to  tell  me,  some  news 

135 


136  SEBASTIAN 

that  will  surprise  me.  I  suppose  you  have  no  idea 
what  it  is?" 

David  was  not  very  good  at  equivocation;  but 
Vanessa  fortunately  did  not  press  her  question.  It  had, 
in  fact,  occurred  to  her,  almost  in  the  act  of  speaking, 
that  Sebastian  had  not  mentioned  his  father,  and  it  was 
possible  he  did  not  wish  him  to  know  what  the  matter 
was  that  he  would  confide  in  her,  until  they  had  talked  it 
over  together. 

Vanessa  was  waiting  to  hear  about  the  year  or  two  of 
foreign  travel,  and  the  essential  acquisition  of  modern 
languages,  and  to  what  it  was  to  lead.  She  had  not 
pressed  for  Sebastian's  confidence,  but  she  felt  it  must  be 
diplomacy  he  was  contemplating.  Already  she  had  been 
wondering  if  Lord  Saighton's  influence  was  still  of  value, 
and  thinking  how  pleased  Stella  would  be  if  she  could  be 
the  medium  to  obtain  it  for  the  boy.  Vanessa  knew 
Lord  Saighton  had  been  an  intimate  friend  of  Jack 
Ashton's,  and  was  still  an  occasional  visitor  in  Weymouth 
Street.  That  was  all  she  knew. 

On  Sunday  evening,  Sebastian  returned. 

"Hallo,  mater,  not  gone  yet?  I  thought  you  were 
due  at  the  Cowers'/'  was  his  greeting  to  his  mother. 

He  stooped  to  kiss  his  father. 

"Told  her  all  about  it?"  he  asked  him. 

Vanessa  looked  from  one  to  another.  She  and  David 
had  been  sharing  the  drawing-room,  awaiting  Sebastian's 
arrival.  David  had  been  even  more  than  usually  rest- 
less, and  Vanessa  had  found  it  difficult  to  control  her 
irritation. 

"  There  is  no  sense  in  walking  backward  and  forwards 


SEBASTIAN  137 

to  the  window,"  she  had  said.  "  He  will  probably  be  an 
hour  late." 

David's  restlessness  irritated  and  fidgeted  her.  She 
could  not  know  its  source.  His  time  was  so  short, 
there  was  so  much  still  to  do. 

And  Sebastian,  here  almost  before  it  was  possible, 
stopped  the  rush  of  pleasure  that  always  came  to  her 
with  his  mere  presence,  by  his  confidential  smile,  and 
quick  question : 

"Have  you  told  her?" 

What  was  there  David  could  tell  her  of  him  ? 

The  boy  was  too  full  of  it  to  wait.  He  was  boy  enough 
to  3iijoyin  anticipation  the  effect  he  was  going  to  produce. 
In  his  Harris  tweed  travelling  suit,  brown  tie  and  boots, 
tan  gloves,  every  detail  of  his  toilette  studied  and  correct, 
he  satisfied  her  eye  and  taste. 

"Let  us  have  tea;  there  wasn't  a  Pullman  on  the 
train,  and  I  hate  the  stuff  they  give  you  at  stations. 
Been  all  right,  pater?" 

"I'm  all  right,  glad  to  see  you  back  again.  You've 
had  a  good  time?" 

"Simply  ripping." 

Vanessa  was  already  out  of  tune.  It  was  difficult  to 
recognise  that  she  was  jealous  of  Sebastian's  love  for  his 
father,  for  hers  was  truly  not  an  ignoble  nature.  David 
dreaded,  for  her,  what  was  to  follow.  When  the  man 
was  bringing  in  the  tray,  he  took  the  opportunity  to 
ask  Sebastian  to  wait  with  his  news.  David  was  very 
nervous ;  Sebastian  grinned,  and  thought  it  good  fun. 

"That's  not  half  enough  buttered  toast.  I  am  simply 
famished.  Bring  another  stack,  and  look  sharp,"  he 


138  SEBASTIAN 

said  to  the  butler.  "Four  lumps  of  sugar,  mater.  So 
the  pater  hasn't  sprung  our  bomb  shell  on  you!  I'm 
going  into  business,  joining  that  fine  old  firm,  P.  and  A. 
Kendall  and  Co.  I'm  a  City  man  from  to-morrow." 

She  looked  from  one  to  another. 

"Isn't  the  joke  rather  vulgar,"  she  asked,  "rather  in 
bad  taste?" 

She  poured  out  his  tea  with  hands  not  quite  steady. 
But  it  was  jealousy  of  the  smile  Sebastian  threw  to  his 
father,  not  the  uncredited  news,  that  unsteadied  them. 
She  passed  him  the  cup. 

"  You  ought  not  to  make  fun  of  your  father's  occupa- 
tion," she  said,  "there  is  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in 
business." 

"That  is  why  I'm  not  ashamed.  What  makes  you 
think  I  am  making  fun  of  the  pater,  or  joking?  I'm 
in  dead  earnest;  we  settled  it  all  up  before  I  went  away, 
didn't  we,  governor?  I've  seen  Uncle  William,  and 
John  too.  Why,  mater,  you've  turned  quite  pale. 
You  don't  mean  to  say  you  really  mind  ?" 

She  had  turned  quite  pale  now.  There  was  some 
understanding  or  conspiracy  between  them,  Sebastian 
could  not  know  how  he  was  hurting  her.  David,  watch- 
ing, interposed  quickly: 

"It  was  not  my  wish.  Sebastian  went  on  his  own 
account,  to  see  his  uncles.  ..." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  both  trying  to  tell  me ; 
about  what  you  are  talking.  You  don't  suppose  I  am 
going  to  submit  to  this  degradation  of  my  boy  ?  " 

"Degradation!  What  rot,  mater!  Come  down  off 
the  high  horse;  if  it's  good  enough  for  the  pater,  it's 
more  than  good  enough  for  me;  you'll  admit  that." 


139 

Vanessa  lost  her  sense  of  proportion,  and  her  self- 
possession  : 

"You  are  in  a  very  different  position,"  she  said, 
quickly.  "  You  are  my  son." 

"So  I  have  always  heard." 

David  got  up  from  his  chair : 

"I  think  I'll  go  upstairs  a  little." 

David  could  not  bear  to  see  Vanessa  in  this  mood,  to 
think  of  her  in  her  conflict  with  Sebastian. 

"  No !  don't  go  away,  governor.  Mater  will  see  my 
point  of  view  in  a  minute.  I  am  eighteen,  the  governor 
is  fifty.  He  works  ten  hours  a  day  so  that  you  and  I 
can  have  all  we  want." 

"My  dear  boy!" 

"Oh!  do  let  me  finish.  Well!  I'm  not  taking  any 
more.  You  are  a  woman,  and  entitled  to  it,  I'm  a  man, 
and  I'm  not.  So  I  am  going  to  do  my  share,  that  is  all." 

She  turned  a  bitter  glance  on  David.  All  the  revul- 
sion of  her  marriage,  all  her  hatred  of  its  old  disregarded 
claim,  was  in  it. 

"So  that  is  the  meaning,  and  the  intrigue,  of  your 
attacks  of  illness?" 

David's  heart  warned  him.  But  he  must  think  of  her 
first,  he  must  keep  steady,  and  not  lose  sight  of  her 
point  of  view. 

"Don't  say  anything  more,"  he  pleaded,  "don't  let  us 
discuss  it  before  the  boy.  Sebastian,  wait,  your  mother 
is  always  right,  perhaps  you  have  been  too  hasty  in  your 
decision." 

Vanessa  must  not  say  words  she  might  regret,  bitter 
things  that  might  one  day  come  back  to  her.  He  pleaded 


140  SEBASTIAN 

to  her  for  silence,  and  with  an  effort  she  regained  a  meas- 
ure of  control. 

Sebastian  had  actually  finished  his  tea.  He  pushed 
his  cup  away,  and  stood  up. 

"Don't  you  go,  pater,  stay  and  talk  it  over  with  her, 
whilst  I  put  myself  in  some  other  togs.  I  suppose  she 
knows  all  you've  told  me  ?" 

He  looked  quickly  from  one  to  another  of  his  parents, 
he  knew  little  of  the  position  between  them,  children  are 
slow  to  recognise  a  division  between  mother  and  father, 
if  both  hold  their  parenthood  sacred,  but  his  brain  was  of 
exceptional  quality,  and  his  instincts  acute. 

"Don't  bully  the  pater.  After  all,  it's  my  own  wish, 
and  not  his.  You  will  realise  your  ambitions,  right 
enough,  mater.  'The  Napoleon  of  the  Paper  Trade' 
they'll  call  me.  See  if  they  don't ! " 

From  the  door,  still  not  quite  satisfied  at  what  he  was 
leaving  behind,  he  added,  good-humouredly : 

"You  know,  mater,  Milton  had  a  jolly  poor  time  com- 
pared to  Vanderbilt." 

There  was  nobility  in  Vanessa,  the  future  proved  it. 
Also,  one  in  whom  the  elements  were  lacking  could  hardly 
have  inspired  all  David  felt  for  her.  Had  he  been  able 
to  speak  to  her,  even  then,  as  he  had  written  Sebastian, 
had  he  been  able  to  make  her  realise  what  she  was  doing, 
it  had  been  well  for  both  of  them.  But  he  was  never 
quite  at  ease,  or  fluent  before  her.  She  had  written 
novels,  inventing  puppets,  and  endowing  these,  whilst 
other  women  were  sharing  human  thoughts  with  men 
and  women.  He  had  thought,  by  leaving  her  leisure  for 
her  puppets,  standing  between  her  and  the  world,  he  had 
been  feeding  her  greatest  need. 


SEBASTIAN  141 

Now  she  used  her  cultured  gift  of  phrase  to  bite  into 
him  her  intolerance  and  anger. 

"When  was  the  foundation  stone  of  this  conspiracy 
first  laid  ?  "  she  asked,  when  the  door  had  closed.  Since 
she  and  David  were  antagonists,  she  would  fight  him 
with  her  own  weapons.  "I  suppose  you  were  corre- 
sponding with  him  all  this  last  term  at  Eton,  with  the 
view  to  shortening  his  stay  there?" 

Vanessa  might  be  antagonistic  to  him,  but  he  was 
no  match  for  her  in  speech;  and  if  he  had  been,  there 
was  no  feeling  but  sympathy  with  which  to  point  his 
weapon. 

"It  was  almost  as  great  a  surprise  to  me  as  to  you; 
don't  take  it  too  hardly.  Let  him  try  it,  we  shall  not 
bind  him  to  anything." 

"You  will  not  chain  him  physically  to  the  desk," 
she  replied,  bitterly.  "  You  have  chained  him  with  gifts, 
entangled  him  with  sentimental  appeals  to  some  childish 
feeling  he  had  for  you;  you  move  him  with  an  affecta- 
tion of  physical  weakness,  and  incapacity." 

"Affectation!" 

"And  because  of  your  claim  on  him,  you  would  drag 
him  down,  selfishly,  to  your  own  level." 

David's  eyes  were  a  little  dim.  How  she  must 
be  hurt,  to  try  and  wound  him,  to  voice  that  which  she 
had  tried  always  to  conceal.  The  contempt  hardly 
touched  him,  he  had  always  known  it  there,  and  in  his 
fine  humility  accepted  it  as  reasonable. 

"I  make  no  claim  on  him,  on  either  of  you,"  he 
answered. 

That  touched  her  a  little,  and  she  wavered  in  her 


142  SEBASTIAN 

indictment.  She  tried  now,  in  her  own  way,  to  hold 
the  scale  even. 

"He  is  only  half  educated.  I  have  been  laying  the 
foundation  on  which  to  erect  a  scholar.  To  under- 
mine my  influence,  all  I  have  been  working  for  all  these 
years,  was  mean,  mean.  Now  I  know  why  he  gave  up 
the  Newcastle." 

"No." 

"Not  directly  perhaps.  But  you  have  appealed  to 
his  feelings." 

"Not  consciously." 

"That  is  possible.  I  do  not  want  to  be  unjust," 
she  was  softening  a  little.  David  was  making  no  fight : 
she  would  have  him  on  her  side,  she  thought,  quickly, 
if  she  would  bring  her  argument  down  to  the  level  of 
his  intelligence. 

"I  do  not  want  to  be  unjust,"  she  repeated.  "I  see 
what  has  occurred.  You  have  been  run  down,  not  in 
your  normal  health.  Instead  of  recuperating,  you  have 
followed  the  line  of  least  resistance,  you  have  thought 
of  getting  help,  some  one  to  do  your  work  for  you; 
and  Sebastian  was  the  nearest.  I  am  sorry  if  I  spoke 
too  harshly,  you  will  understand  it  was  a  great  shock 
to  me  that  Sebastian  should  even  think  of  abandoning 
his  career,  in  order  to  buy  and  sell  paper  in  the  City. 
I  don't  suppose,  for  a  moment,  you  can  see  things  from 
my  point  of  view.  To  you,  it  was  a  strong  young  arm 
upon  which  to  lean,  a  prop  for  your  old  age.  But  to 
me  .  .  .  Sebastian  is  so  much  more  than  that." 

She  really  thought  Sebastian  was  dearer  to  her  than 
he  was  to  his  father !  Her  voice  was  lowered,  and 


SEBASTIAN  143 

full  of  genuine  feeling,  as  she  went  on:  "To  me,  he  is 
almost  more  my  father's  son  than  mine,  the  son  of 
John  Hepplewight-Ventom !  I  could  give  my  father  so 
little,  I  was  so  young  when  he  died,  and  my  own  talent 
is  but  small." 

She  would  be  generous  in  taking  David  into  her 
confidence,  showing  him  the  impossibility  of  what  he 
proposed. 

"Stella  and  Bice  can  do  nothing  for  the  name.  Se- 
bastian has  all  the  gifts,  music  and  song,  the  eye  of  a 
true  artist,  extraordinary  power  of  acquiring  knowledge, 
the  genius  to  use  it  .  .  ."  She  broke  off;  she  even 
smiled  at  him,  making  his  poor  heart  beat  more 
unevenly. 

"When  my  father  came  to  you  to  make  the  paper 
for  his  book,  you  never  suggested  you  would  write  the 
monograph,  and  he  might  make  the  paper.  Sebastian, 
in  some  ways,  is  greater  than  my  father;  and  will. go 
further.  His  perception  is  quicker,  for  one  thing." 

David  could  not  sit  still  whilst  Vanessa  talked;  he 
moved  restlessly  about  the  room,  and  Vanessa  eyed, 
watched  him. 

She  was  critical  of  his  hands,  his  feet,  in  their  square- 
toed  boots,  his  want  of  smartness.  Involuntarily  she 
added : 

"He  and  I  are  so  different  to  you." 

On  flie  surface  it  was  true.  There  seemed  little  in 
common  with  the  light  and  grace  of  Sebastian's  move- 
ment, in  David's  springless  step,  nor  in  the  boy's  clear- 
cut  Ventom  features  and  bright  eyes,  with  David's 
dulness  of  vision.  But  looking  a  little  more  intelli- 


144  SEBASTIAN 

gently  from  one  to  another,  one  became  conscious  of 
the  same  width  of  brow,  and  something  of  the  same 
shaped  head.  Vanessa  saw  only  herself,  or  her  father, 
in  the  boy,  but  David  was  there,  nevertheless.  For- 
tunately, perhaps,  for  the  intellectual  type,  and  Se- 
bastian certainly  had  that  for  heritage,  sinks  to  deca- 
dence when  like  marries  like. 

Vanessa  used  all  the  weapons  in  her  armoury  against 
David,  phrase,  and  feeling,  argument  and  allusion. 
She  thought  she  had  fought  a  good,  and  winning,  fight 
when,  at  length,  she  left  him.  He  was  very  wearied, 
exhausted,  and  he  had  said  she  was  probably  quite 
right,  she  was  always  right.  He  remained  on  in  the 
drawing-room  when  the  door  closed  after  her,  he  was 
too  tired  to  go  upstairs  just  yet.  He  would  not  go  to 
dinner,  he  would  leave  her  and  Sebastian  to  talk  things 
out.  Perhaps  she  would  persuade  the  boy  to  change 
his  mind;  to  go  on  with  his  studies,  en  route  for  the 
University.  The  University  would  be  essential  to  al- 
most any  career  that  Vanessa  would  select  for  him. 
That  meant  at  least  four  years. 

In  his  present  condition  David  could  not  look  four 
years  ahead.  But  it  might  be  that  she  was  right. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  selfish  in  wanting  the  boy,  oblivious 
of  his  higher  interests.  It  was  difficult  to  gauge  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  classical  education  if  you  have  never  had 
one,  and  at  fifty  years  of  age  to  create  a  new  ideal.  In 
David's  youth,  commercial  integrity,  and  the  good 
name  of  P.  and  A.  Kendall  in  the  City,  had  stood  to 
him  for  all  ambition.  After  his  marriage,  the  effort  to 
make  Vanessa  happy,  content,  and  free,  had  absorbed 
his  mind.  He  had  none  of  the  class  sense  which  cramped 


SEBASTIAN  145 

his  wife's  vision.  He  did  not  appreciate  the  differences 
between  the  finished  product  of  Eton,  Harrow,  or  Win- 
chester; the  University,  and  perhaps  the  army;  and 
the  men,  in  so  many  instances  superior,  who  were 
tumbled  out  of  rough  schools  into  City  offices,  and  grew 
to  hold  their  citizenship  and  their  homes,  higher  than 
the  exotic  civilisation  of  Society's  convention. 

Apart  from  the  greatness  that  was  Sebastian's  birth- 
right, Vanessa  incidentally  insisted  he  must  be  a  gen- 
tleman. David  missed  this  distinction  in  her  eyes.  It 
is  only  when  eyes  have  cried  that  vision  grows  clear. 
Vanessa  had  not  yet  cried. 

Tears  of  passion  wash  away  no  illusions.  She  fought 
Sebastian  passionately  over  his  defection,  and  he  met 
argument  with  ridicule,  immovable  standards  with 
irreconcilable  illustration. 

As  long  as  he  could  carefully  conceal  from  his  mother 
the  real  reason  for  his  abrupt  decision,  so  long  as  he 
need  not  touch  on  his  father's  health,  nor  what  he  felt 
about  it,  he  could  hold  his  own  against  her.  Of  course 
he  was  ashamed  of  anything  approaching  sentiment. 
He  cared  for  both  his  parents,  he  was,  what  he  called, 
thoroughly  "pally"  and  intimate  with  them.  But  if 
there  were  a  sentimental  side  to  his  mother's  nature, 
he  had  not  struck  it;  what  he  liked  always  about  her 
was  her  quick  intelligence,  and  appreciation  of  his. 
They  were  intellectually  akin.  They  shared  an  un- 
practical, limited  view  of  life,  and  an  esoteric  consid- 
eration of  literature.  Also  they  both  had  egotism,  a 
faculty  for  criticism,  and  a  disproportionate  apprecia- 
tion of  paradoxical  phrase. 


146  SEBASTIAN 

But  when  a  boy  like  Sebastian  is  moved  through  his 
secret  sentiment  to  a  certain  course,  none  of  these 
things  count,  they  fall  into  their  right  place. 

Vanessa  fought  her  son  through  a  short  dinner,  and 
a  long  evening.  David  did  not  appear  again.  She 
used  rhetoric,  she  appealed  to  his  pride,  she  talked  of 
what  his  friends  at  Eton  would  say,  his  tutors,  and  the 
world  generally.  She  argued  of  the  disgrace  to  her, 
and  of  the  value  her  position  in  the  world  of  letters 
would  have  been  to  him  had  he  decided  more  worthily. 
But  she  could  not  move  him  in  his  determination. 
She  even  let  him  see  her  cry,  she  shed  a  hot  tear  or 
two  of  baffled  anger. 

If  he  must  "peddle"  he  must,  she  said,  finally,  there 
was  possibly  a  strain  of  hereditary  vulgarity  in  him. 
He  could  not  believe  that  it  was  to  his  father  she  was 
alluding,  and  she  was  quickly  ashamed  of  having  said  it. 

She  could  make  him  flush,  she  could  get  pin-pricks 
into  the  sensitiveness  of  his  young  Eton-softened  skin, 
but  she  could  not  touch  his  decision,  nor  arrive  at  its 
source  in  this  way.  The  feeling  for  David,  at  which 
she  could  not  guess,  and  was  not  herself  capable,  made 
him  immune  to  her  assaults. 

"What  is  the  use  of  talking  any  more  about  it?"  he 
said,  at  length.  "  I  have  absolutely  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  am  going  into  the  City,  that  I  am  going  to  work 
with  the  pater.  But  I  wish  you  wouldn't  take  it  the 
way  you  do.  We've  never  been  like  this  before." 

There  had  been  in  truth  a  beautiful  sympathy  be- 
tween them.  In  a  flash  of  painful  intuition,  gone  almost 
as  it  came,  she  saw  the  blank  place  in  her  life  if  she 
should  lose  him. 


SEBASTIAN  147 

"That  is  the  point  I  am  labouring,"  she  got  out 
with  difficulty.  "I  have  never  crossed  you,  contra- 
dicted you,  hardly  argued  with  you.  I  have  never 
opposed  my  maternity  to  your  intelligence." 

She  had  long  ago  composed  the  phrase,  but  now  it 
sounded  flat,  and  the  rounded  period  held  no  comfort. 
But  she  had  no  other  method  of  expression.  She  went 
on:  "I  see  you  sinking  into  the  slough  of  commer- 
cialism, tarnishing  all  your  brightness,  voluntarily  put- 
ting out  your  light,  extinguishing  the  spark  of  genius 
in  you.  ...  I  cannot  keep  silence,  my  conscience  will 
not  let  me.  Heaven  knows  with  what  argument  he  has 
plied  you.  ..." 

"You  know  he  has  not  influenced  me  by  a  word, 
except  a  word  to  consider  you,  before  him,  or  myself, 
or  anybody,"  he  said,  reproachfully. 

"You  have  ranged  yourself  with  him,  and  against 
me,"  she  cried.  "I  have  no  longer  part,  or  share,  or 
interest  in  you.  League  yourself  with  him  if  you  insist, 
but  leave  me  out  of  your  thoughts.  I  have  nothing  in 
common  with  the  life  you  choose." 

She  was  angered  in  her  pride,  and  jealousy,  past 
reasonable  thought,  or  self-restraint.  All  the  evening, 
she  had  fought  and  argued,  now  her  strength  broke 
suddenly. 

"I  don't  know  how  the  future  will  shape  for  me. 
But  I  will  have  no  part  in  this  sacrilege  you  contem- 
plate, nor  countenance  it  with  my  presence.  I  shall  go 
away  to-morrow,  and  in  the  winter  I  shall  go  abroad. 
I  will  fill  my  days  with  work,  and  try  what  I  can  do 
that  your  grandfather  shall  not  be  forgotten.  Ever 


148  SEBASTIAN 

since  you  were  born,  I  have  dreamed,  and  longed  to 
make  you  worthy  of  your  intellectual  inheritance,  I 
have  thought  of  little  else." 

"It  never  was  me  you  cared  for  then,  only  the  am- 
bitions you  had  for  me,  your  dreams  for  me." 

"Perhaps.  I  don't  know.  I  only  know  you  have 
never  been  out  of  my  thoughts.  I  have  subordinated 
myself  where  you  have  been  concerned,  that  you  should 
expand.  Now  I  must  cut  you  out  of  my  life.  I  shall 
live  only  for  literature." 

"Mater,  you  are  angry  now,  disappointed.  You 
don't  mean  all  this,  you  can't !" 

"I  mean  a  thousand  times  more.  I  know  now  that 
my  ambition  for  you  has  given  colour  to  all  my  days; 
that  but  for  these  dreams  had  all  been  grey.  But  you 
don't  care  for  that,  you  forget  all  we  have  been  to  each 
other,  you  dissociate  yourself  from  me.  ..." 

"You  are  thrusting  me  away  as  quickly  as  you 
can,"  he  murmured,  half  amused,  incredulous. 

"Not  you,  David  Kendall's  worthy  son.  I  had  never 
anything  in  common  with  him.  In  the  very  first  year 
of  our  marriage  I  asked  him  to  let  me  go,  to  release 
me  from  such  an  unnatural  tie.  I  wish  I  had  been 
firm  about  it,  and  had  gone  before  I  bore  him  a  child 
of  whom  he  could  rob  me !  " 

"  Oh !  isn't  that  rot,  just  because  I  am  going  to 
make  paper,  instead  of  staining  it !" 

"I  can't  expect  you  any  longer  to  look  at  things  in 
the  same  way  I  do,  not  at  this,  nor  anything.  William 
and  John  Kendall  will  form  your  mind,  not  I." 

She  believed  every  word  she  uttered,  she  believed 
incredible  things. 


SEBASTIAN  149 

All  that  night,  when  she  lay  awake,  in  rage  and  grief, 
she  reiterated  she  had  lost  her  only  son,  and  that  now 
nothing  was  left  her  but  the  children  of  her  brain. 
Sebastian  had  said  she  thrust  him  away  from  her. 
Well !  it  was  true.  She  did  not  want  to  mother  a  City 
man,  David's  son.  But  her  heart  ached,  ached,  ached. 
She  had  not  known  one  could  suffer  so.  She  must  get 
away  from  him,  begin  life  again,  write  —  travel  — 
study.  She  had  been  wrong  in  surrendering  her  place 
to  Sebastian;  she  had  felt  that,  whilst  she  had  only 
talent,  he  had  genius.  Always  in  the  background  of 
her  mind  had  been  the  day  when  the  critics  should 
write  that  his  "grandfather's  incomparable  style"  and 
his  mother's  "delicate  talent"  had  culminated  in  him. 

And  now  she  told  herself  that  all  the  burden  borne 
for  posterity  must  be  hers.  She  was  unfit  to  bear  it, 
what  Hilda  de  Cliffe  said  was  true,  it.  was  puppets  she 
created,  not  men  and  women.  She  had  not  known 
there  was  suffering  in  the  world  such  as  she  felt  now, 
then  how  could  she  write  with  only  inexperience  to  be 
her  guide?  Yet  had  she  but  been  able  to  analyse 
what  shook  her,  and  kept  her  sleepless,  she  would  have 
known  it  was  but  jealousy,  and  a  faint  doubt  of  herself, 
the  knowledge,  that  was  never  spared  her,  of  David's 
goodness,  the  dim  truth  on  the  horizon  that  what  she 
felt  for  the  name  of  Hepplewight-Ventom  was  inherently 
the  same  instinct  as  his  pride  in  the  unbroken  succes- 
sion of  City  Kendalls.  She  was  almost  as  young  as  her 
son,  undisciplined  to  meet  disappointment. 

She  would  leave  them  both,  dissociate  herself  from 
them,  go  away,  and  freed  from  ties,  would  make  her 


150  SEBASTIAN 

new  book  more  worthy  of  her  and  her  father's  name 
than  any  she  had  yet  written.  The  world  would  hold 
her  justified.  In  that  white  night,  sleepless,  she  cried 
that  Sebastian  should  be  proud  of  her,  since  she  needs 
must  be  ashamed  of  him. 

She  thought  it  was  all  true,  and  that  the  ache  in 
her  heart  would  go,  if  she  wrote  books,  and  lived  on  in 
dreamland,  moving  the  world  with  words.  She  thought 
that  so  she  could  recapture  happiness.  It  is  incredible, 
one  whom  many  critics  had  praised,  could  believe  that 
this  was  all  for  which  God  had  given  her  a  son.  That 
she  might  dream  of  his  future,  plan  for  him,  and  dis- 
card him  when  his  individuality  outstripped  her  dreams  ! 


CHAPTER  XI 

IT  is  possible  David  and  Sebastian  had  heartache 
too,  for  Vanessa  Kendall  was  not  a  woman  whom  one 
could  part  with  easily  from  life  and  home.  She  had 
too  much  personality;  she  had  the  gift,  or  defect,  of 
being  the  centre  of  her  circle. 

And  she  kept  to  her  determination.  She  went  away 
the  next  day  on  a  round  of  visits,  without  bidding 
them  good-bye,  without  giving  them  any  indication 
when  she  would  return. 

David  and  Sebastian  started  their  work  together, 
getting  what  happiness  and  satisfaction  they  could 
from  it.  But  it  was  all  flat  and  savourless,  because 
of  her  action.  They  both  loved  her,  and  this  way  she 
taught  them;  David  had  known  that  love  can  em- 
bitter life,  and  now  Sebastian  saw  a  glimmer  of  the 
same  sad  truth. 

David  spent  much  time,  in  those  journeys  to  and 
from  Queen  Victoria  Street,  in  talking  to  the  boy 
about  his  mother,  mutely  asking  sympathy  and  for- 
giveness for  her,  dwelling  on  generous  traits,  if  he  could 
not  dwell  on  tender  ones,  speaking  of  Vanessa's  loyalty, 
single-heartedness,  devotion  to  her  father's  memory; 
reminding  him  how  he  and  Stella  filled  her  thoughts, 
and  that  she  had  never  failed  either  of  them. 

"Until  now,"  Sebastian  interrupted. 

151 


152  SEBASTIAN 

He  missed  her,  and  resented  her  defection.  He 
wanted  sympathy,  to  talk  about  himself,  and  all  that 
he  was  doing,  and  planning.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
David's  slowness  of  speech,  and  thought,  awkwardness 
of  expression,  and  movement,  affected  Sebastian  almost 
as  it  affected  Vanessa.  The  only  difference  was  that 
Sebastian  loved  his  father.  He  wanted  his  mother. 
All  his  years  she  had  been  part  of  him,  they  had  lived 
in  a  real  intimacy.  She  could  not  mean  to  cut  him  off 
like  this.  Yet  his  pride  and  her  pride  were  alike. 
He  sent  her  no  line,  but  plodded  to  the  City  with  his 
father,  learning  his  trade.  And  she  wrote  him  no  word 
of  encouragement,  nor  help,  nursing  her  grievance. 

Vanessa's  first  visit  was  to  the  Gowers.  Their  place 
was  in  Ireland,  the  post-town  Bray.  Lord  Gowers  was 
a  man  of  seventy,  bearded,  taciturn,  irascible.  Her 
hostess  was  his  second  wife,  the  mother  of  sons.  This 
had  been  her  raison  d'etre,  and  remained  her  only  claim 
to  consideration.  But  the  boys  themselves  seemed 
unworthy  of  the  trouble  that  had  been  taken  to  secure 
them.  Mervyn  had  failed  to  get  into  the  Army,  and 
Ren  ton  had  been  sent  down  from  Oxford.  Both  were 
in  debt,  and  in  awe  of  their  father.  The  two  days  she 
was  there,  before  the  rest  of  the  party  arrived,  and  the 
grouse-shooting  began,  Vanessa  spent  in  mentally  com- 
paring her  boy  with  these  two  gentlemanly  young 
loafers.  They  were  finished  products  of  the  schools 
she  admired,  they  had  little  or  no  brains,  hearts,  nor 
consciences;  but  their  manners  and  appearance  were 
excellent.  Lady  Gowers  thought  they  were  both  well- 
nigh  perfect,  and  that  their  father  was  unconscionably 


SEBASTIAN  153 

harsh  to  them.  That,  too,  gave  Vanessa  food  for 
thought,  although  she  tried  to  keep  thought  away  from 
her,  and  to  banish  that  persistent  heartache. 

Lord  Gowers  had  been  a  friend  of  John  Hepple- 
wight-Ventom.  A  disagreeable  and  cantankerous  father 
and  husband  he  might  be,  but  he  was  no  mean  scholar, 
and  the  daughter  of  his  old  friend  was  a  congenial  com- 
panion to  him.  He  had  most  of  Ventom's  books  in 
original  editions,  autographed  by  their  author.  "Um- 
brian  Hills  and  Valleys,"  for  instance,  had  been  dedi- 
cated to  him  "in  affectionate  memory  of  three  months' 
fellowship."  They  had  journeyed  together,  and  he 
liked  to  talk  of  those  old  days.  The  "Etruscan  Re- 
searches," too,  had  pencil  notes,  and  many  reminiscences. 
Lord  Gowers'  troubles  had  not  begun  until  after  his 
second  marriage,  and  the  adolescence  of  the  much-desired 
heir.  Their  twinship  was  the  first  complication.  He 
said  it  was  an  extraordinary  coincidence  that  both  he 
and  his  old  friend  should  have  had  twin  children.  In- 
cidentally he  always  touched  Vanessa's  small  sense  of 
humour  when  he  dilated  on  this  subject.  She  had  often 
stayed  at  the  Towers.  When  Sebastian  was  a  very 
little  boy  he  had  been  here  with  her.  But  the  twins  had 
been  uncongenial  companions  to  him,  and  she  had  never 
repeated  the  experiment. 

Lord  Gowers  asked  after  him. 

"He  must  be  getting  a  big  boy  now,"  he  said,  forget- 
ting how  quickly  the  years  passed.  "  I  suppose  you  have 
packed  him  off  to  Eton;  and  begun  to  hear  he  is  no 
good,"  he  added,  with  an  impatient  sigh.  He  was  full 
of  his  own  disappointments,  bad  reports,  requests  to 


154  SEBASTIAN 

remove,  superannuation,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Bad 
training  at  home  was  Vanessa's  secret  explanation,  but 
she  was  able  to  successfully  conceal  her  view.  She  was 
not  able  to  conceal  her  very  different  experience  with 
her  son,  nor  to  refrain  from  boasting  of  it.  Was  it 
boasting,  or  only  common  fairness,  and  loyalty,  to 
the  boy  who  was  not  to  count  with  her  any  more,  whom 
she  had  discarded  for  ever? 

She  told  Lord  Gowers  of  what  Sebastian  had  achieved, 
of  scholarships,  prizes,  and  laudatory  letters.  Lord 
Gowers  was  rather  bored  by  the  relation. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "so  you  are  quite  proud  of  him ? 
He  had  a  look  of  his  grandfather,  I  thought,  when  I  last 
saw  him.  What  are  you  doing  with  him  now  ?  Balliol 
was  your  father's  college,  was  it  not,  or  New  College? 
He  had  left  Oxford  before  my  day.  It  was  later  on, 
when  I  was  in  Rome,  that  we  became  intimate." 

"Sebastian  does  not  wish  to  go  to  the  University," 
she  answered,  slowly.  She  hated  to  have  to  say  it. 
In  that  beautiful  old  library,  lofty,  vellum-scented, 
its  deep  mullioned  windows  giving  on  to  the  wooded 
park,  she  seemed  so  far,  and  so  apart,  from  David 
Kendall.  She  and  Lord  Gowers  had  talked  of  Italy; 
suddenly  she  envisaged  monasticism,  and  the  middle 
ages,  her  father,  and  his  absorption  in  mediae valism. 
Why  had  Sebastian  left  her  by  herself  in  this  world 
that  belonged  to  both  of  them? 

Her  host  did  not  question  her  further  as  to  where 
Sebastian  was  going.  He  preferred  to  talk  with  her  of 
olden  days.  And  she,  too,  thought  such  reminiscences 
would  help  her  to  escape  from  the  pull  of  the  cord  that 


SEBASTIAN  155 

would  not  let  her  forget  that  half  of  her  was  in  Harley 
Street. 

The  house  filled,  and  there  was  much  talk  of  grouse. 
There  were  motor  drives,  and  dinner  parties,  bridge, 
politics,  and  religion.  There  was  the  well-bred  circle, 
boring  and  bored,  that  the  autumn  always  brings  to- 
gether. The  cord  vibrated  painfully  all  the  time. 
Vanessa  found  herself  awake  at  night,  wondering  what 
Sebastian  was  doing,  how  he  was  faring,  what  City  people 
were  thinking  of  him.  She  could  not  banish  him,  try  as 
she  would.  And  always  it  was  herself  she  doubted. 
She  was  learning,  in  the  hardest  of  schools,  that  to  be  at 
war  with  one's  own  heart,  and  conscience,  robs  even 
victory  of  its  triumph,  leaves  the  taste  of  ashes  in  the 
mouth,  and  the  field  of  battle  desolate. 

From  Sebastian  there  came  no  line  ;  but  David 
wrote  her.  There  was  little  he  could  say.  If  he  told 
her  of  Sebastian's  quick  powers  of  assimilation,  of  what 
customers  said  to,  or  of,  him,  of  what  difference  his  daily 
companionship,  his  ignorant,  happy  business  optimism 
made,  of  how  all  the  colours  seemed  brightened,  and  the 
future  more  promising,  she  might  have  resented  it. 
David,  fearful  of  hurting  her,  left  out,  therefore,  in  his 
short  letters,  all  the  things  she  was  longing  to  hear.  He 
wrote  about  the  weather,  or  news  that  she  could  have 
read  in  the  papers.  He  ignored  that  there  was  any 
estrangement  between  them.  He  hoped  she  was  having 
a  good  time,  and  asked  if  she  was  making  progress  with 
the  new  book. 

For  a  week  or  two  she  did  not  answer  these  letters. 
Then  she  told  herself  it  was  her  duty  to  give  them  her 


156  SEBASTIAN 

address,  and  she  wrote  that  she  was  leaving  the  Gowers, 
and  would  be  with  the  Harlands  until  such  and  such  a 
date,  after  that,  with  the  Bowrings. 

She  altered  her  plans  again,  and  yet  again,  and  paid 
many  short,  restless  visits.  But  she  could  not  get  away 
from  her  thoughts,  they  persistently  followed  the  boy, 
followed  him  into  the  City,  home  to  long  dull  evenings. 
She  ached  for  him,  yet  still  succeeded  in  persuading  her- 
self that  it  was  only  over  his  lost  chance  of  greatness  that 
she  was  grieving! 

She  moved  from  place  to  place,  and  among  different 
circles  of  people.  She  made  long  journeys  —  unneces- 
sary, fatiguing.  From  Ireland  to  Scotland,  and  to  the 
South  of  England,  before  going  into  Wales.  She  stayed 
with  land  owners,  who  cared  only  for  the  agrarian  ques- 
tion, and  with  those  to  whom  nothing  was  vital  but  the 
ritualistic  movement,  and  the  Catholic  Church.  She 
found  herself  in  country  parsonages  where  the  smallest 
of  local  gossip  filled  dull  conventional  days ;  and  once  in 
a  ducal  castle  where  nobody  cared  for  anything,  or 
anybody,  but  the  concealment  of  the  fact  that  the  host 
was  a  cripple,  more  than  half  an  idiot,  and  that  wife, 
majordomo,  valet,  and  doctor  were  little  else  than  so 
many  keepers. 

She  had  many  friends,  and  to  some  she  wrote  and 
offered  herself,  and  many  wrote  to  her.  She  was  always, 
and  everywhere,  a  welcome  guest.  But  all  her  friends 
noted  her  changing  looks.  She  had  been  extraordinarily 
young  in  her  appearance,  fresh  and  vivid,  now  the  sleep- 
less nights  and  the  tug,  tug,  at  her  heart-strings  were 
telling. 


SEBASTIAN  157 

Always,  before  this,  she  had  had  Sebastian's  childish 
letters  to  read  and  answer,  then  his  boyish  ones.  At 
first  there  had  been  picture  post-cards,  and  foreign 
stamps,  then  money,  cakes,  and  parcels  generally.  At 
Eton  he  had  wanted  more  from  her.  She  had  fallen  in 
the  way  of  remembering  for  him  all  the  good  stories  she 
heard,  all  the  interesting  things.  The  tit-bits  of  each 
day  were  reserved  for  him,  and  much  of  her  intelligence 
went  into  her  letters.  They  had  been  almost  daily,  her 
sweetest  tasks,  her  imagination  had  played  with  them 
more  happily  than  with  her  literary  puppets,  for  she 
could  always  see  the  boy  reading,  laughing,  commenting, 
or  questioning.  Everything  she  saw  or  heard,  read,  or 
discovered,  were  for  his  amusement  or  needs.  Now 
there  was  nothing. 

By  the  end  of  October,  her  friends  all  palled,  the  days 
were  even  more  tedious.  And,  worst  trouble  of  all,  the 
book  dragged  on  her  hands.  The  boy,  whom  she  had 
discarded,  came  between  her  and  her  bloodless  hero, 
between  her  and  her  paradoxical  heroine.  Their  for- 
tunes seemed  hardly  worth  following. 

The  De  Cliffes  were  her  last  resource.  If  any  one 
could  cure  her  of,  what  she  told  herself  constantly  was, 
merely  "sentimentality,"  it  would  be  Hilda  de  ClifTe. 

Hilda  would  find  the  phrases  to  rescue  her  from 
mundanity,  from  a  commonplace,  unworthy  longing 
for  a  boy,  who,  with  his  father,  was  "engaged  in  the 
City"!  " 

Vanessa  arrived  late  in  Newmarket.  She  was  not 
disappointed  to  find  her  hostess  was  absent  from  the 
platform,  but  was  surprised  to  be  accosted  by  a  big, 


158  SEBASTIAN 

thick-set  man,  clean-shaven,  with  a  North  Country 
accent,  who  had  got  out  of  the  next  carriage,  and  been 
obviously  watching  her  movements,  listening  to  the  ques- 
tions she  put  to  the  guard. 

"  Is  there  any  one  waiting  for  me  ?  Is  there  a  carriage 
from  Seaton  House?  " 

"Are  you  going  to  Seaton  House?  You  are  Mrs. 
Kendall,  I  think." 

"But  how  did  you  know?  " 

"Well!  you  sent  me  your  photograph  once,  and  I 
have  a  good  memory,"  he  answered,  quite  simply. 

"I  sent  you  my  photograph?"  she  repeated,  in 
astonishment. 

"You  did  indeed.  Come  along  with  me,  we'll  find 
the  carriage,  or  one  of  the  motors,  waiting  outside  for  us. 
I  know  their  ways." 

"To  whom  am  I  speaking?  " 

"My  name  is  Wallingford." 

"Joseph  Wallingford!"  she  exclaimed. 

"That's  right.  That  you,  Leeward  ?  Find  Mrs.  Ken- 
dall's maid,  and  help  her  with  the  luggage.  I  thought 
so,  here  is  De  Cliffe's  motor.  Oh!  the  brougham 
is  there  too.  I  suppose  they  weren't  sure  you  would 
want  to  come  with  me.  What  will  you  do?  " 

Vanessa  elected  for  the  motor,  she  was  quite  ready  to 
share  it  with  Joseph  Wallingford.  She  had  wished  to 
meet  him,  although  her  literary  friends  had  dissuaded 
her,  and  told  her  that  he  was  "impossible."  For  what 
she  knew  of  him  interested  her. 

He  was  a  power  in  the  North  of  England,  the  owner 
of  a  big  syndicate  of  newspapers.  He  had  given  her, 


SEBASTIAN  159 

through  an  agent,  the  largest  price  she  had  ever  re- 
ceived for  a  book,  and  having  bought,  he  had  advertised 
it  so  extensively  that  for  some  weeks  she  had  been 
positively  ashamed  to  open  a  newspaper,  or  stop  at  a 
bookstall.  The  portrait  of  which  he  spoke  had  stared  at 
her  from  literary  supplements,  on  scattered  leaflets,  and 
in  blurred  pulls  in  daily  papers. 

It  was  difficult  for  them  to  hear  each  other  speak  in 
the  motor. 

"I  don't  like  these  big  machines,"  he  said,  and  named 
the  maker,  "they  are  noisy.  What  is  the  good  of  a 
sixty  horse-power  machine  with  a  twenty  miles  an  hour 
speed  limit?"  He  talked  of  motors,  with  obvious 
knowledge,  until  they  pulled  up  at  Seaton  House,  op- 
posite the  heath.  It  was  a  modern,  unpretentious  villa, 
behind  big  pretentious  iron  gates. 

Vanessa  had  not  met  her  host  before.  Lord  de  Cliffe 
was  clean-shaven,  stolid,  he  looked  sufficiently  stupid 
to  be  a  soldier,  and  he  wore  an  eye-glass,  as  if  to  accen- 
tuate the  vacuity  of  his  expression.  Sir  George  Chitter- 
ing  was  of  the  same  type,  but  taller,  thinner,  and  more 
elegant.  Tony  Hawthorn  was  a  stable  boy,  grown 
stout,  but  having  ridden  in  races,  and  been  dubbed  a 
jockey,  his  social  inequality  was  overlooked.  All  three 
men  were  in  the  hall,  smoking,  and  drinking  whiskies 
and  sodas.  They  greeted  "Joe"  with  enthusiasm.  But 
Vanessa  seemed  somewhat  of  a  surprise  to  them.  Lord 
de  Cliffe  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  although  he  had 
forgotten,  or  never  been  told,  that  she  was  expected. 
He  explained  that  Lady  de  Cliffe  was  lying  down;  she 
had  complained  of  headache.  He  introduced  the  others, 


160  SEBASTIAN 

and  said  he  "supposed  she  knew  Joe."  Then  he  talked 
vaguely  of  tea,  and  engineered  her  quickly  to  a  house- 
keeper, and  her  own  room. 

After  which  he  and  his  friends  said  she  "  was  a  devilish 
fine  woman,  and  they  would  never  have  guessed  she  was 
one  of  the  'scribbling  crowd.'  '  They  then  began  to 
talk  horses,  form,  and  the  stud  book,  and  continued 
doing  so  until  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner. 

Vanessa  was  rather  chilled  by  her  reception.  Also 
she  had  expected  to  find  a  letter  from  David,  and  little 
as  there  was  ever  hi  his  letters,  she  had  begun  to  find 
herself  awaiting  them  eagerly.  But  tea  was  brought  up 
to  her,  she  rested,  and  made  her  usual  careful  toilette. 

Seaton  House  was  less  ostentatiously  inharmonious 
than  the  Curzon  Street  establishment.  It  was  roomy, 
comfortable,  and  only  negatively  ugly,  in  a  modern, 
leather  chair,  and  saddle-backed  sofa  manner.  Lady 
de  Cliffe  came  to  her  before  dinner,  and  Vanessa  had 
never  seen  her  look  more  beautiful,  nor  more  fragile. 
Her  manner  was  excitable,  and  she  talked  continuously. 
She  was  almost  overwhelming  in  her  welcome  of  Vanessa, 
and  admired  everything  she  was  wearing.  She  stayed 
until  it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock,  and,  in  consequence, 
was  twenty  minutes  late  in  making  her  appearance  in 
the  drawing-room,  keeping  dinner,  and  everybody  wait- 
ing. She  took  it  quite  airily : 

"I  am  not  late,  am  I?  "  was  all  she  said,  in  apology. 
"  I  am  so  awfully  hungry,  let  us  go  down  at  once.  The 
soup  will  be  cold  anyhow,  it  always  is.  You  are  going 
to  take  me  down,  aren't  you,  Sir  George?  " 

She  went  in  first,  talking  eagerly. 


SEBASTIAN  161 

Lord  de  Cliff e  offered  his  arm  to  Vanessa.  Joe  Wal- 
lingford, and  Tony  Hawthorn,  brought  up  the  rear. 

Vanessa  was  adaptable,  and  quite  useful  at  society 
small  talk.  But  she  found  her  host  difficult,  and  mono- 
syllabic. It  was  not  that  he  was  not  used  to  the  society 
of  women,  but  he  had  just  been  given  so  many  instruc- 
tions as  to  what  he  was  to  say,  and  avoid  saying,  he  had 
just  been  told  so  much  about  Vanessa's  talents,  and 
more  about  her  ingenuousness,  that  he  was  nervous. 
He  floundered  hopelessly,  and,  as  he  expressed  it  after- 
wards, chucked  it  altogether,  and  let  Joe  take  it  on. 

Joe  Wallingford  was  typical  of  an  interesting  class, 
rare  in  London,  fairly  common  in  the  Midlands.  His 
father  had  been  a  journeyman  printer,  and  invented  a 
contrivance  for  facilitating  his  labour.  He  patented  it, 
and  made  a  small  fortune  by  dint  of  almost  incredible 
exertions,  first  in  developing,  and  then  in  pushing  his 
discovery.  But  it  was  not  until  young  Joe  came  on  the 
scene  that  the  fortune  grew  to  any  considerable  dimen- 
sions. 

The  father  had  invented  a  printing  machine,  but  the 
son  found  how  to  put  it  to  account.  It  was  many  years 
ago,  before  the  linotype,  or  the  monotype,  came  into  use, 
and  it  may  be  said  the  Wallingford  was  a  very  ingenious 
precursor  of  both.  Young  Joe  found  it  difficult  to  per- 
suade the  contented  owner  of  the  Workington  Gazette  to 
use  the  Wallingford.  So  he  set  up  a  press,  and  brought 
out  a  weekly  sheet  of  his  own.  A  very  small  venture,  at 
first,  for  providing  up-to-date  sporting  news  in  a  sporting 
district,  it  grew  and  grew,  until  money  and  advertise- 
ments began  to  roll  in.  Then  a  Sunday  paper  edition, 


162  SEBASTIAN 

with  Saturday's  football  news,  was  added,  and  finally  a 
halfpenny  daily. 

At  the  present  moment,  Joe  Wallingford,  young  Joe, 
as  he  was  still  called  by  the  fellow-townsmen  who  had 
known  his  father,  had  inherited  the  fortune  he  had  helped 
his  father  to  make,  and  possessed  another  for  which  he 
was  wholly  responsible.  There  was  a  Workington 
Chronicle  that  brought  him  in  something  like  £40,000 
a  year,  and  the  Millborough  Express,  worth  another 
£28,000.  And  there  was  also  the  Imperial  Syndicate 
which  financed  a  dozen  daily,  evening,  and  weekly 
papers,  magazines,  monthlies,  and  cheap  editions  of 
popular  novels,  incidentally  securing  to  Joe  further 
annual  £50,000  or  so. 

Joe  Wallingford  provided  literature  for  the  million. 
But  when  he  heard  from  Vanessa,  or  gathered  from  her, 
that  she  was  not  dependent  for  her  living  upon  her  pen, 
he  questioned  her  with  surprise  as  to  her  motive  in 
writing.  He  did  not  understand  it.  It  seemed  a 
strange,  small,  mercenary  thing  to  do.  Literature  had 
no  aspect  for  him  but  the  pecuniary  one. 

"Why  don't  you  give  it  up,"  he  urged,  "if  your 
husband  can  earn  enough  for  both  of  you?" 

He  did  not  perhaps  put  this  in  actual  words,  but  he 
amused  Vanessa  by  letting  her  see  his  point  of  view. 
That  he  did  not  think  there  was  anything  beyond  the 
money  question  in  her  work,  amused,  whilst  it  made  her 
feel  small.  So  did  Joe  Wallingford,  himself,  his  slow, 
deliberate  speech,  and  entire  simplicity  of  self-betrayal. 
He  spoke  no  language  but  his  own,  and  that  indifferently 
well.  He  told  her  he  had  left  school  when  he  was  thir- 
teen and  he  seemed  to  think  he  had  learned  quite  enough. 


SEBASTIAN  163 

He  knew  nothing  of  John  Hepplewight-Ventom, 
and  was  quite  unimpressed  when,  in  answer  to  a  ques- 
tion, Vanessa  described  him  as  the  great  stylist  of  the 
Victorian  Era.  But  he  was  interested  when  Vanessa 
mentioned  that  she  had  a  grown-up  son,  and,  for  the 
first  time,  she  found  herself  saying  Sebastian  had  chosen 
a  mercantile  career,  without  being  ashamed,  or  dis- 
tressed. 

There  was  no  apparent  reason  Joe  Wallingford  should 
have  been  more  congenial  to  her  than  David  Kendall, 
neither  of  them  possessed  the  external  qualities  that  she 
deemed  so  essential.  But,  without  any  apparent  reason, 
she  was  indefinably  attracted  by  the  millionaire  news- 
paper proprietor,  and  for  the  first  time  in  all  these  in- 
tolerable weeks  she  talked  of  Sebastian,  and  the  dinner 
hour  proved  all  too  short. 

Joe  Wallingford  had  spent  over  thirty,  of  his  forty  odd, 
years,  in  making  money.  Incidentally  he  had  met  pro- 
vincial women  of  the  prosperous  middle  classes,  and  a 
variety  of  those  in  a  different  strata  altogether,  poor 
daughters  of  pleasure.  Lately  he  had  met  Hilda  de 
Cliffe,  after  having  a  deal  or  two  in  horses  with  her  hus- 
band, and  been  introduced  by  him  to  a  private  club  in 
London,  where  they  illegally  played  baccarat  far  into  the 
small  hours. 

Hughie  de  Cliffe,  Tony  Hawthorn,  and  all  that  clique 
of  racing  men,  thought  they  had  got  hold  of  rather  a  good 
thing  in  Joe.  But  then  it  was  like  their  half-sharpness 
not  to  realise  how  little  of  a  flat  he  was.  He  liked  the 
experience  they  gave  him.  He  was  willing  to  pay  some- 
thing for  it,  although  of  course  he  would  pay  as  little  as 


164  SEBASTIAN 

he  could.  But  he  had  no  illusions  about  them  at  all,  and 
he  could  have  given  them  points,  and  a  beating,  in  know- 
ledge of  a  horse.  In  his  part  of  the  world,  the  very  gutter 
children  talk  horse-flesh,  and  spot  winners,  betting  their 
halfpennies  on  the  stables  they  fancy. 

This  was  the  second,  or  third  time,  Joe  had  been  to 
Seaton  House.  He  played  poker,  and  auction  bridge, 
and  baccarat,  there.  Tony  Hawthorn  was  training 
some  horses,  and  Joe  had  registered  his  colours  on 
the  turf.  Hilda  had  been  very  charming  to  Joe  Walling- 
ford,  very  charming  indeed,  but  she  had  made  no  prog- 
ress. He  came  for  the  horses,  not  for  Hilda.  It  was 
true  he  was,  at  first,  at  the  very  first,  impressed  with 
rank  and  title.  He  was  only  now  beginning  to  realise 
the  purchasing  power  of  his  money.  But  his  strong 
common  sense  saved  him  from  over-rating  anything 
that  was,  so  to  speak,  for  sale,  and  Lord  and  Lady  de 
Cliffe,  Seaton  House,  and  the  rest  of  it,  had  already 
quickly  assumed  their  proper  place  in  his  estimation. 

He  had  come  down  to-night  because  the  great  sale 
of  yearlings  was  to-morrow,  and  Tony  had  written  him 
that  he  should  make  a  certain  purchase.  Then  he  met 
Vanessa  Rendall,  and  to  both  of  them  it  proved  a  mo- 
mentous meeting. 

After  dinner,  in  the  drawing-room,  Hilda  chaffed 
Vanessa  a  little  about  her  conquest.  Vanessa  had 
always  accepted  the  slight  vulgarity,  it  was  impos- 
sible to  disregard,  about  Lady  de  Cliffe.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Wargrave,  and  had  not  a  drop  of 
blood  in  her  veins  that  was  not  as  blue  as  Burke  could 
prove  it ;  but  the  vulgarity  was  unmistakably  there  also. 


SEBASTIAN  165 

It  jarred  upon  Vanessa  to-night,  perhaps  because  her 
nerves  were  out  of  order,  but  possibly  because  she  recog- 
nised that  there  was  a  substratum  of  truth  in  the  implica- 
tion she  had  been  absorbed  by  her  companion  at  dinner, 
and  she  disliked  the  complexion  her  friend  was  putting 
upon  it. 

"I  found  him  interesting.  He  neither  poses  nor 
boasts;  he  seems  quite  unaware  he  is  remarkable." 

"  Is  he  remarkable  ?  " 

Hilda  yawned  indifferently,  she  had  curled  herself  up 
on  the  sofa,  and  her  spasmodic  vivacity  died  suddenly 
away.  "I  am  glad  you  like  him.  I  found  him  im- 
possible, but  I  always  knew  you  would  fall  in  love  some 
day,  and  with  some  one  ludicrously  inappropriate. 
You  have  as  much  jewellery  as  you  can  carry,"  she 
added,  irrelevantly.  "  I  don't  know  what  you'll  do  with 
him." 

"What  has  altered  your  mood?"  Vanessa  asked, 
quietly.  "You  were  not  like  this  before  dinner." 

"No !  before  dinner,"  Hilda  sighed,  "I  was  so  happy. 
I  was  happier,  I  think,  than  I  had  ever  been  in  my  life 
before.  Now  —  now,"  she  was  quite  tragic,  "I  am 
wretched,  tourmentee,  miserable  ! "  She  sat  up  suddenly. 
"Look  at  me,  Vanessa,  look  at  me.  Am  I  ugly,  old, 
dull?"  and  vehemently  she  answered  herself.  "I  am 
not,  I  know  I  am  not.  My  nose  is  too  small,  I  have 
always  admitted  that,  and  some  men  like  tall  women  best ; 
but  I  looked  lovely  to-night  when  I  came  down,  you  know 
I  did.  This  green  satin  suits  me,  it  is  the  colour  of  the 
second  circle  in  my  eyes.  The  middle  is  black,  and  there 
is  a  line  of  dark  outside.  Every  one  has  told  me  about 


166  SEBASTIAN 

that,  and  about  my  beautiful  hair.  And,  to-night  — 
to-night  of  all  nights,  I  have  grown  pale,  I  look  washed 
out !  I  was  so  good,  too,  I  told  Hugh  what  he  must  talk 
to  you  about,  and  that  he  must  make  himself  agreeable, 
because  you  were  the  only  woman  I  had  ever  known 
that  I  really  and  truly  liked.  I  said  he  wasn't  to  tell 
you  anecdotes  from  the  Winning  Post.  .  .  ." 

"But  what  has  happened,  what  has  upset  you?" 
Vanessa  knew  Hilda  as  a  woman  of  moods,  with  some- 
thing in  her  of  the  poet,  and  something  of  the  child. 
Vanessa's  imagination  invested  Hilda  de  Cliff e  with  a 
thousand  qualities  that  were  foreign  to  her,  and  missed 
the  essential  one  that  set  her  apart. 

"Can't  you  guess?" 

"No." 

"How  dull  you  are." 

Vanessa  smiled,  she  knew  she  was  not  dull.  "Can't 
you  see  that  I've  fallen  madly  in  love,  that  I  shall  die 
if  I  don't  get  him  ?  Didn't  you  see  that  I've  no  eyes  nor 
ears  for  anything  else?  And  he  doesn't  care  for  me, 
you  know  he  doesn't.  They  will  play  bridge  after  dinner, 
they  won't  come  up  for  hours." 

Many  weeks  later  when  Stella,  speaking  of  Lady  de 
Cliffe,  said  she  was  a  disease,  and  not  a  woman  at  all, 
Vanessa  recalled  this  outpouring,  about  which  there  was 
no  reticence,  and  little  modesty.  Hilda  had  fallen  in 
love  with  Sir  George  Chitterling.  She  wanted  Vanessa 
to  talk  to  Hugh,  to  talk  to  every  one,  she  said  she  wanted 
the  coast  left  clear  for  her !  She  had  begun  the  conver- 
sation by  chaffing  Vanessa  about  Joe  Wallingford,  she 
ended  up  by  a  reckless  betrayal  of  the  lowest  moral 


SEBASTIAN  167 

standard;  and  an  abandonment,  scarcely  sane,  to  an 
emotion  that  had  seized  her  some  three  days  since. 

Vanessa  was  repelled,  amazed,  incredulous.  Then  she 
became  analytic,  and  played  the  psychological  novelist. 
And  Hilda  liked  to  have  her  feelings  dissected,  and  to  help 
in  the  dissection.  Vanessa,  who  prided  herself  on  being 
broad-minded,  tried  to  hide  her  repulsion.  Hilda  was 
hysterically  confidential,  and  unashamed. 

When  the  men  came  up,  the  party  fell  easily  into 
their  places.  Sir  George  Chitterling  sat  on  the  sofa,  and 
murmured  in  a  low  voice  to  his  hostess ;  who  began  to 
revive,  and  become  animated,  under  the  stimulus.  Joe 
Wallingford  sought  Vanessa,  and  the  others  sat  down  to 
icarte. 

Vanessa,  anxious  to  leave  her  hostess,  and  the  card 
players,  undisturbed,  talked  freely;  and  Joe  listened, 
sympathetically.  He  was  amazingly  shrewd.  She 
thought  she  had  said  little  about  Sebastian,  or  her  dis- 
appointment in  him,  yet  that  was  Joe's  text.  In  their 
corner  of  the  big  drawing-room  they  were  as  isolated  as 
if  it  had  been  a  t&te-h-tete  they  were  enjoying. 

"I  should  think  he  will  do  very  well  in  business," 
Joe  told  her.  He  had,  somehow  or  other,  quickly 
found  out  the  subject  that  interested  her.  "I've  had  a 
lot  of  young  fellows  from  public  schools,  and  licked  them 
into  shape.  It  is  not  the  public  schools  that  do  the  harm, 
it's  the  loafing  at  the  University  for  three  years,  after- 
wards. They  are  not  much  good  after  that,"  he  said. 

"I  was  disappointed,"  she  admitted. 

"  At  his  going  into  the  City  ?  What  did  you  want  him 
to  do?" 


168  SEBASTIAN 

She  hesitated. 

"Almost  anything." 

"But  you  had  something  in  view  for  him?" 

"No,  not  definitely.  The  bar,  literature,  or  politics, 
perhaps,  if  he  had  not  preferred  diplomacy." 

"Ten  years  idling,  and  a  crowd  in  front  of  him, 
difficult  to  get  past,  hustling  him  out.  As  for  politics, 
a  successful  business  man  has  the  best  chance  there. 
Whyl- 

He  paused,  she  could  not  want  to  hear  what  had 
happened  to  him.  But  she  did,  and  pressed  for  it. 

"  I  have  been  asked  to  stand  for  my  division ;  it's  not 
worth  talking  about.  Tell  me  more  about  your  son. 
It  is  his  father's  business,  the  hand-made  paper,  isn't  it, 
the  Kendall  Mills?" 

"  Yes !  They  were  trying  material  for  my  father's  book 
when  I  first  met  Mr.  Kendall." 

"Were  you  helping  him  to  write  it ?" 

"Oh,  no.  How  could  I  help  him?  Except  perhaps 
by  a  little  research  work,  and  arranging  his  notes." 

From  the  beginning,  Joe  found'no  difficulty  in  talking 
to  Vanessa  Kendall,  such  as  had  barred  his  speech  in  other 
drawing-rooms.  He  told  her,  presently,  all  about  his 
own  political  chances,  they  were  not  aspirations,  they 
were  opportunities  that  were  being  pressed  upon  him. 
She  was  genuinely  interested,  and  he  found  her  most 
encouraging.  The  party,  there  was  only  one  party  in 
Vanessa's  eyes,  and  none  at  all,  until  lately,  in  Joe's, 
wanted  Press  influence,  to  spread  their  Protection  tenets. 
London  was  safe,  but  there  was  doubt,  hesitation,  and 
appalling  ignorance,  in  provincial  trade  centres.  Joe 


SEBASTIAN  169 

Wallingford's  seven  or  eight  papers  meant  two  or  three 
million  readers.  And  Joe  was  being  bribed  to  make  them 
read  the  truth  about  English  merchandise,  and  the 
failure  of  Free  Trade. 

Not  all  at  once,  not  only  in  that  first  evening,  did  Joe 
Wallingford  unbosom  himself  to  the  first  woman  he  had 
met  in  whom  he  found  companionship,  understanding, 
and  something  that  he  read  for  sympathy. 

The  Seaton  House  atmosphere  was  undoubtedly  un- 
congenial to  Vanessa.  In  London,  Hilda  had  been  an 
interesting  novelty,  a  marionette,  mouthing  paradox 
and  epigram ;  humanly  speaking,  something  of  an  abstrac- 
tion. At  close  quarters  she  was  weird,  corrupt,  unwhole- 
some. Lady  de  Cliffe  was  everything  of  which  Vanessa 
had  no  experience,  and  was  unable  to  place.  She  was 
a  morphia-maniac,  to  begin  with.  If  she  had  ever  had 
a  moral  fibre,  it  had  become  loose  and  coarse  from  the 
drug.  She  was  given,  in  the  intervals  of  super-intelli- 
gent analysis  of  her  indulged  emotions,  to  becoming 
quite  uncontrollably  enamoured,  now  of  this,  and  now  of 
the  other,  man. 

It  was,  perhaps,  unfortunate,  that  Vanessa  should 
have  timed  her  visit  at  the  beginning  of  one  of  these 
erotic  attacks.  Hilda  ate,  slept,  and  dressed  with  only 
Sir  George  Chitterling  in  her  mind.  She  talked  of 
nothing  else,  she  said  inconceivable  things  that  bewildered 
and  startled  her  guest. 

Vanessa's  visit  was  timed  for  a  week,  and  she  could  not, 
without  discourtesy,  of  which  she  was  incapable,  cut  it 
short.  But  she  could,  and  did,  make  it  obvions  to  Joe 
Wallingford  that  she  was  out  of  her  element,  and 


170  SEBASTIAN 

thoroughly  ill  at  ease.  And  Joe,  who  had  a  hundred  calls 
on  his  time,  engagements  and  business  of  every  descrip- 
tion to  which  he  should  have  been  attending,  dismissed 
them  all  easily  by  letter,  telegrams,  and  telephone,  and, 
with  the  exception  of  two  hurried  visits  to  London, 
remained  at  her  disposal. 

It  was  an  easy-going,  hospitable  house,  and  Joe  knew 
how  to  make  himself  welcome  to  his  host.  He  rode  out 
on  the  heath  in  the  mornings  and  saw  the  "young  'uns" 
gallop.  He  bought  a  horse  from  Hugh,  and  two  yearlings 
at  Tony's  instigation.  After  the  ladies  had  retired  for 
the  night,  he  played  bridge,  or  poker,  or  anything  that 
they  suggested.  One  evening  he  took  De  Cliff e  on  at 
billiards.  But  there  was  no  profit  for  Hughie  in  that ! 
It  is  probable  there  would  have  been  little,  or  none,  in 
the  other  games  if  Joe  had  so  minded.  The  position  to 
which  Joe  Wallingford  had  attained,  is  not  won  by  a 
fool,  or  a  flat.  The  big  provincial  was  neither,  but  this 
week  at  Newmarket  was  worth  paying  for,  so,  although 
he  was  not  fond  of  wasting  his  well-earned  money,  he 
paid  for  it. 

He  grew,  in  that  week,  into  a  very  strange  intimacy 
with  a  woman  who  had  a  hundred  acquaintances,  and 
only  her  sister  and  her  son  for  friends.  There  was  Stella, 
and  there  had  been  Sebastian.  These  and  her  pen  had 
sufficed  Vanessa.  She  had  taken  her  politics  from  the 
newspapers,  and  the  world  from  books.  Her  acquaint- 
ances, other  than  the  St.  Maurs,  were  literary  people, 
old  friends  of  her  father's;  men  and  women  to  whom 
pictures,  or  Cloisonne",  Chippendale  furniture,  eighteenth- 
century  mezzotints,  china  and  miniatures,  were  more 
vital  than  humanity. 


SEBASTIAN  171 

Joe  Wallingford  did  not  know  an  oleograph  from  an 
oil-painting,  nor  Battersea  enamel  from  Lowestoft  china, 
but  she  did  not  weary  of  his  conversation.  Joe  was  on  the 
eve  of  great  things,  on  the  threshold  of  a  career  that 
might  lead  to  power.  Lord  Lenham  wished  to  come  on 
the  board  of  the  Imperial  Syndicate.  It  had  been 
suggested  by  him  that  the  proprietor  of  the  Workington 
Chronicle  would  find  the  party  grateful  for  a  correct 
interpretation  of  their  views,  and  that  the  gratitude  that 
commenced  with  a  baronetcy,  might  easily  expand  to  a 
peerage. 

Joe  was  being  tempted  to  partizanship,  and  many 
lures  were  being  spread  before  him.  The  boy,  who  had 
stood  beside  his  father  in  shirt  sleeves  at  the  printing 
press,  who  had  been  taken  away  from  school  at  thirteen 
years  of  age  because  the  few  shillings  he  could  earn  were 
of  importance  to  the  family  exchequer,  had  found  himself 
an  honoured  guest  at  the  Earl  of  Tatterton's.  He  told 
Vanessa  that  Lord  Tatterton  was  very  genial  to  him, 
and  Lenham,  the  eldest  son  and  heir,  who  had  been  in  the 
last  Cabinet,  and  was  active  now  in  Opposition,  hardly 
talked  to  any  one  else  whilst  Joe  Wallingford  had  been 
the  guest  of  the  moment  at  Wroxford. 

All  this  Vanessa  heard.  Joe  did  not  stop  to  explain  to 
himself  his  feeling  for  Vanessa,  why  he  stayed  on  at 
Seaton  House,  why  he,  who  had  all  his  life  been  reticent, 
became  communicative,  why  he,  who  had  been  attracted 
by  no  lure  spread  before  him,  found  them  all  alluring 
when  he  was  telling  her  of  what  might  accrue.  He  had 
looked  for  none  of  the  things  that  were  being  dangled 
before  him.  His  ambitions  had  been  to  "  sell  a  few  more 


172  SEBASTIAN 

papers,"  for  so  he  worded  his  business  instinct  for  rival- 
ling his  competitors  in  his  own  trade.  He  had  had,  and 
this  was  Vanessa's  phrasing,  little  interest  in  his  own 
personality.  And  his  sense  of  citizenship  had  been  con- 
fined to  local  affairs.  But  Free  Trade  or  Protection 
was  a  national  matter.  So  was  the  growing  political 
power  of  labour,  woman's  suffrage,  and  socialism. 

Vanessa  had  always,  it  now  appeared,  been  semi- 
conscious of  the  nearness  of  these  things  to  herself. 
She  had  always  resented  the  limitations  of  her  immediate 
interests,  blaming  Stella's  health,  her  duty  to  David,  the 
absorption  of  Sebastian,  for  her  practical  ineptitude. 
She  grew  momentarily  absorbed  in  the  man  through 
whom  she  saw  them  close  to  her  —  just  at  the  juncture 
when  life  was  so  amazingly  empty.  His  perfunctory, 
slighting  allusions  to  Imperial  matters  awoke  in  her  an 
almost  passionate  desire  to  bring  his  responsibilities 
home  to  him.  The  ambitions,  Sebastian  had  so  thwarted, 
knew  a  strange,  hot,  recrudescence  after  these  talks  with 
Joe  Wallingford.  She  knew  how  she  could  have  helped, 
and  quickened  him,  had  he  been  son  or  brother.  And 
she  did  quicken  him  by  her  eager  intelligence,  and  insist- 
ence that  he  must  go  where  he  was  being  impelled,  that 
he  was  the  man  for  the  hour. 

For  she  had  the  mind  to  see,  long  before  the  world  saw, 
that  Joe  Wallingford  was  a  force,  a  strong  man  who  had 
as  yet  shouldered  no  burden.  The  Conservatives  were 
waiting  for  a  leader,  vainly  surveying  the  political  hori- 
zon for  something,  some  one,  to  stem  the  rising  tide  of 
democracy  and  Fabianism.  They  were  looking  in  recog- 
nised quarters,  to  great  houses,  for  worthy  scions.  But 


SEBASTIAN  173 

as  before,  in  times  of  stress,  it  was  from  the  people  the 
leader  would  arise. 

Vanessa's  enthusiasm  led  Joe  Wallingford  to  accept 
the  offer  that  had  been  made  to  him  to  stand  for  the 
southern  division  of  Workington,  but  it  had  a  far  stranger 
effect  than  that. 

"You  are  not  very  happy  here.  Why  are  you  staying 
on?"  Joe  asked  her,  bluntly,  one  afternoon,  when  Sir 
George  and  Hilda  occupied  the  drawing-room,  the  men 
monopolised  the  hall,  and  the  dull  library,  with  its  stale 
smoke,  and  air  of  disuse,  was  the  only  refuge  from  her 
bedroom.  She  flushed,  she  was  so  completely  honest. 

"I  do  not  want  to  go  home." 

"Why?" 

He  was  blunt,  and  she  was  honest.  It  was  because  she 
had  said  she  would  not  go  back,  because  Sebastian  had 
disappointed  her  by  going  into  business !  How  poor, 
and  trivial,  and  absurd,  it  suddenly  seemed.  Her  heart 
ached  with  longing  for  him;  grew  sick  with  longing  for 
him,  when  even  his  spoken  name  was  in  the  room.  This 
week  had  solaced  it,  she  knew  in  a  flash  of  intuition,  gone 
almost  as  quickly  as  it  came,  how  she  had  been  solaced. 
Joe  Wallingford  was  a  successful  business  man.  And 
her  Sebastian  was  second  to  none  in  talent  or  industry. 

"They  will  be  looking  for  you,"  he  said,  shrewdly, 
"  a  boy  knows  his  mother  won't  stop  away  from  him  for 
long  because  he  has  chosen  his  career  for  himself." 

Joe  did  not  speak  of  David,  he  did  not  want  to  re- 
member she  had  a  husband.  But  her  son  was  part  of 
her,  no  intimacy  with,  or  knowledge  of,  Vanessa  could 
ignore  it.  Estranged  from  him  as  she  imagined  herself, 
his  name  was  daily,  hourly,  on  her  lips. 


174  SEBASTIAN 

"You  don't  look  as  if  you  had  a  boy  of  eighteen/' 
he  went  on.  They  very  seldom  touched  intimate  per- 
sonal things.  But  the  uttermost  limit  of  his  visit  had 
been  reached.  He  was  going  to  leave  her  behind  him, 
and  take  up  the  life  of  which  they  had  talked.  Meetings 
and  men  loomed  before  him,  indefinably  lacking  in  in- 
terest. "You  must  have  married  very  young." 

"I  was  barely  eighteen." 

"That  means  you  are  about  thirty-eight." 

It  was  involuntary ;  it  came  to  his  mind  he  was  forty- 
three.  He  was  the  right  age  for  her,  and  she  was  the 
only  woman  he  had  ever  seen  that  he  could  have  married. 
Not  a  man  of  sentiment,  knowing  little  of  women,  and 
not  given  to  thinking  of  his  personal  needs,  it  had  not 
struck  him  until  now  that  he  was  alone  in  the  world. 

They  had  been  out  together,  and  she  was  more  femi- 
nine than  usual  in  her  motor  hat  and  flowing  veil.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed  and  her  eyes  softly  bright.  In  the 
glow  of  the  firelight,  she  stood,  warm,  companionable, 
and  desirable. 

Her  upright  figure  was  slim  as  a  girl's,  the  dark  tailor- 
made  coat  defined  its  lines. 

"You  ought  to  be  at  home,"  he  went  on,  slowly. 

"Because?" 

"Because  it's  your  place.  And  they'll  be  wanting 
you,  they'll  both  be  wanting  you  all  the  time." 

"I  have  nothing  in  common  with  them,"  she  repeated, 
anxious  to  be  contradicted,  wanting  to  be  persuaded. 
"  I  am  primarily,  and  above  all  things,  a  literary  woman. 
Books  absorb  me,  the  printed  page,  my  own,  and  other 
people's.  You  asked  me  once  why  I  write?  I  cannot 


SEBASTIAN  175 

help  writing.  Since  I  can  remember,  I  have  translated 
feeling  into  phrase,  that  is  my  life's  essence.  I  cannot 
explain  it,  nor,"  and  she  smiled,  "excuse  it,  for  to  you  it 
needs  excuse.  Even  now "  she  hesitated. 

"Even  now,  you  were  going  to  say,  when  you  are 
suffering  from  having  separated  yourself  from  the  boy 
and  your  home,  when  you  are  restless,  and  conscious 
of  the  wrong  surroundings,  you  think  you  can  make  a 
story  of  it,  and  so  get  right?" 

She  could  not  be  uncandid. 

"It  has  always  been  true,  but  now  it  is  not  quite  true. 

I  cannot  write "  She  flushed  slightly.  Why 

should  she  be  talking  so  openly  to  this  comparative 
stranger  ? 

"You  see  him,  he  comes  between  the  pen  and  the 
paper?" 

"Yes!  between  me  and  my  book,  between  me  and 
my  thoughts."  And  then  she  added,  impulsively,  "It 
is  only  when  I  am  talking  about  him  that  I  get  over  it 
a  little,  that  —  that  my  heart  does  not  ache."  She 
put  her  hand  involuntarily  to  her  side.  "The  heart- 
ache stops  then.  Otherwise,  all  the  time,  day  and  night, 
at  meals,  when  I  try  to  write,  in  the  midst  of  talking, 
all  the  time,  I  am  conscious  of  nothing  so  acute  as 
my  longing  for  him,  the  emptiness  of  my  days  and 
dreams.  ..." 

Her  voice  broke  a  little,  and  she  was  ashamed.  There 
was  more  sympathy,  more  softness  in  his  eyes,  when  she 
raised  hers  to  meet  them,  than  she  had  expected  to  see. 
She  had  never  met  any  one  so  understanding,  with 
whom  she  could  talk  so  freely.  She  went  on,  a  little 
breathlessly : 


176  SEBASTIAN 

"It  is  possible  I  am  exaggerating.  Perhaps,  talking 
to  you  like  this,  is  another  form  of  literary  self-indul- 
gence, insincerity?" 

"No,  it  isn't,  you  mean  every  word  you  say,  and  feel 
it.  You  don't  know  yourself,  that's  all.  There  is  a 
woman  in  you,  you've  clouded  her  with  ink,  but  she's 
there  all  the  same.  I  wish " 

But  she  did  not  hear  what  he  wished,  for  he  dismissed 
it  with  an  impatient  sigh,  and  went  on : 

"You  are  out  of  place  here,  out  of  your  element. 
This  woman,  Lady  Hilda,  is  not  your  sort.  You  go 
home.  Home  is  the  place  for  a  woman  like  you,  it  don't 
much  matter  what  you  do  there.  Scribble,  or  leave  it 
alone,  but  go  back  to  the  boy.  You're  loose  from  your 
moorings  without  him.  When  a  boat's  loose  from  its 
moorings,  it  drifts " 

He  stopped ;  and  she  said,  lightly : 

"I  should  not  drift  very  far." 

"There  are  many  might  like  to  tow  you  to  port/' 
he  rejoined,  rather  irritably.  She  looked  up  in  surprise, 
and  some  amusement. 

"Don't  you  be  offended  with  me.  You  know  I'm 
plain  spoken.  You're  too  good-looking  to  go  about  by 
yourself." 

"Absurd!"  she  answered  quickly,  reddening  a  little, 
nevertheless. 

"Too  attractive." 

"But  I  am  not  at  all  that  sort  of  woman,"  she  inter- 
polated, interested,  all  the  same,  in  a  new  view  of  herself. 

"No !  and  I  have  never  been  at  all  that  sort  of  man, 
nevertheless.  .  .  ."  Their  eyes  met. 

"Absurd,"  she  said  again,  averting  hers. 


SEBASTIAN  177 

"I  knew  it  would  seem  like  that  to  you,"  he  answered, 
quietly,  one  might  have  thought,  indifferently.  "You 
don't  care  whether  I'm  dead  or  alive,  I'm  naught  to  you, 
your  whole  mind  is  on  the  boy.  But  it  wouldn't  be 
absurd  if  you  did  what  you  talk  of  doing,  freed  yourself 
from  your  ties,  lived  alone." 

"I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

"  Every  woman  can  take  care  of  herself  until  she  likes 
the  man  who  likes  her." 

So  desirable  she  looked,  in  her  surprise,  and  growing 
interest,  the  firelight  red  on  her  ebon  hair,  and  warm 
about  her  warmth,  that  he  said,  harshly : 

"Go  home.    You  are  not  safe  out  of  your  home." 

It  struck  her,  quite  suddenly,  that  he  was  telling  her 
something  of  what  she  had  never  known,  of  some  power 
or  possibility  in  herself  of  which  she  had  never  dreamed. 
She  had  had  no  love,  or  lovers,  in  her  life.  She  wanted 
to  dwell  on  the  literary  value  of  the  situation.  But, 
instead,  the  personality  of  the  man  held  her,  and  his 
next  words  arrested  her. 

"Are  you  going  home?"  he  asked,  brutally.  "Be- 
cause, if  not,  there  is  Workington." 

"You  mean?" 

"I  mean " 

He  changed  his  intention  in  the  middle  of  his  speech. 
He  was  cool  and  level-headed,  habitually,  and  there  had 
been  only  a  momentary  lapse  from  his  habit. 

"That  if  you  are  not  going  back  to  your  home,  you 
had  better  come  to  Workington.  You  can  write  at  your 
novel,  or  you  can  come  in  with  us  in  this  campaign. 
There  will  be  articles,  manifestos,  speeches." 


178  SEBASTIAN 

He  had  visions,  a  quick  thought  of  companionship 
in  twilight  hours,  a  room  warm,  like  this  one,  with  fire- 
light, and  she  there,  always,  to  meet  him  after  the  day's 
work. 

"Will  you  come?"  he  asked  her,  quite  plainly. 

And  for  a  moment  she  stood  silent,  contemplating  a 
new  prospect.  He  had  a  great  future  in  front  of  him, 
and  she  could  help  him.  He  would  not  thwart  her,  nor 
break  from  her  influence.  His  massive  strength  made 
some  appeal  to  her,  the  strangeness  of  her  sensations 
held,  or  compelled,  her  interest. 

A  subtle  something,  fear  or  feeling,  thrilled  her.  She 
looked  up  to  meet  enquiring  eyes ;  he  was  uncertain  still, 
he  had  known  her  but  a  short  week.  Now  she  hesitated, 
when  he  expected  quick  rejection. 

"Is  it  to  be  Workington?" 

"Wait!  Wait!  I  am  trying  to  think  what  your 
offer  means."  But  she  was  unconsciously  embarrassed 
when  she  said  the  words,  that,  almost  involuntarily, 
brought  him  nearer  to  her.  She  went  on,  hurriedly, 
getting,  as  she  thought,  on  to  safe  ground,  "You  mean 
that  if  I  am  genuine,  serious;  if  I  really  intend  dis- 
sociating myself  permanently  from  husband  and  son, 
you"  —  her  speech  grew  slow,  hesitating,  it  was  absurd 
to  feel  embarrassed,  but  the  absurdity  came  to  pass  — 
"you  would  offer  me  a  political  career,  polemics  to  write, 
the  Anti-Suffrage  Movement  to  direct  in  your  publica- 
tions?" 

He  interrupted  her,  quite  unceremoniously : 

"I  am  offering  you  whatever  you  want.  Work, 
or " 


SEBASTIAN  179 

He  was  standing  directly  in  front  of  her  now,  and  again 
they  looked  into  each  other's  eyes.  His  was  a  very 
steady  look,  and  it  was  Vanessa's  eyes  that  fell.  She 
drew  in  her  breath  suddenly,  and  again  she  said : 

"Wait!" 

"You  may  as  well  be  frank  with  me,"  he  answered, 
after  a  short  pause.  "Speak  what  is  in  your  mind; 
you  must  know  what  is  in  mine.  I  am  in  no  hurry, 
take  your  own  time.  If  you  are  in  earnest  that  you 
have  severed  yourself  from  home,  come  to  Workington. 
Leave  it  at  that;  you  can  do  as  you  like  when  you  get 
there  —  I'd  like  to  see  you  often." 

She  shaded  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  she  was  indeed 
out  of  her  element.  She  felt  as  stupid  as  a  schoolgirl, 
and  as  shy.  Of  course  she  was  misunderstanding  him, 
and  there  was  no  meaning  in  his  eyes,  such  as  had  lowered 
hers.  Out  of  the  confusion  of  her  thoughts,  after  a  few 
difficult  moments,  sprang  sincerity  of  speech. 

"I  have  been  trying  to  do  the  impossible.  How 
stupid  I  have  been !  How  blind !  Sebastian  is  —  is 
me,"  she  said,  slowly.  "I  have  been  contemplating  life 
without  him,  and  there  has  become  a  hollow  where  was 
my  heart.  I  feel  faint,  physically  faint.  It  could  not 
be,  it  is  impossible.  I  have  mistaken  myself,  my 
strength.  You  have  shown  me  my  way,  I  have  been  so 
horribly  wrong." 

Silence  fell  again.  She  uncovered  her  eyes,  looking 
into  the  fire,  ignoring  that  which  she  did  not  wish  to 
understand. 

"I  have  been  horribly  wrong,  and  unreasonable.  At 
this  moment,  I  don't  know  why,  I  suddenly  see  it  all 


180  SEBASTIAN 

quite  clearly.  It  has  been  only  temper,  my  bad  temper, 
that  I  have  been  indulging,  because  I  could  not  get  my 
own  way  !  One  name  or  another,  the  trade  of  literature, 
or  the  trade  of  paper  making ;  what  does  it  really  matter  ? 
Through  your  clear  eyes  one  is  no  finer  than  the  other. 
How  you  belittle  the  things  I  revere  —  unconsciously, 
of  course.  The  dead  past  is  all  dead  to  you,  and  there 
is  only  the  present,  and  a  short  future,  for  us  to  play  in. 
You  have  bought  my  books,  but  you  have  never  read 
them.  You  have  heard  my  father's  name,  but  it  has  no 
meaning  for  you.  And  yet  you,  how  strange,  have  made 
everything  so  clear  to  me.  How  little  I  count " 

"No.    No." 

"How  little  my  work  matters,  my  motherhood  counts 
more " 

"Call  it  your  womanhood." 

She  was  really  thinking  aloud.    She  said,  quite  slowly : 

"I  have  never  been  sure  about  that.  Stella,  my 
sister,  has  queried  it,  and  Lady  de  Cliffe,  I  myself,  too, 
sometimes!" 

"It's  there,  right  enough,"  said  Joe. 

"  Perhaps  I  should  never  have  written  novels,  divided 
myself  from  the  living?"  she  asked  him,  hesitatingly. 

"You've  had  no  call  to  do  it." 

"It  has  always  seemed  to  me  that  I  have  had  no 
genuine  call  to  do  anything  else,  that  that  alone  is  in- 
herent, uncontrollable.  I  think  so  much  more  clearly, 
and  easily,  with  a  pen  in  my  hand." 

"Well,  it  has  come  to  this.  It  is  the  first  time  you 
are  in  trouble,  and  your  pen  has  not  helped  you.  You've 
got  a  heart-  —  " 


SEBASTIAN  181 

"Small,  narrow " 

"Give  it  a  chance." 

"Go  back?" 

"Or  go  .  forward.  There's  Workington,  and  —  and 
the  movement."  He  had  almost  added,  instead,  "and 
me." 

"You  want  to  test  me?" 

"Don't  you  make  a  mistake.  I  want  to  put  things 
before  you.  You  told  me  you'd  left  home  for  good,  you 
had  done  with  your  husband  and  your  son.  I've  told 
you  where,  and  how,  you  can  get  into  a  new  groove. 
I'm  not  disinterested " 

"You  think  I  could  be  of  use  to  you?"  She  wanted 
to  be  assured  that  she  was  on  safe  ground,  that  nothing 
had  occurred  to  startle  her. 

He  had  no  subtlety. 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  the  sort,"  he  answered, 
plainly.  "I  think  I  could  have  been  of  use  to  you." 

"  You ! "    And  her  face  flushed. 

"Well!"  he  said.  "Well,  it  seems  you  don't  get  on 
well  with  your  husband.  ..." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IT  was  not  coincidence,  but  the  parlourmaid,  that 
brought  Sebastian's  irregular  scrawl  on  the  silver 
salver. 

"An  express  letter,  Madam." 

She  took  it  with  a  quick  beat  of  the  heart,  and  a  thrill 
of  apprehension,  or  pleasure.  He  had  written,  it  had 
come  at  last,  the  call  of  her  boy ;  nothing  was  vital  but 
that,  he  had  written  to  her,  at  last ! 

"Dear  Mater," — the  words  struck  coldly  to  her: 
in  his  letters  he  had  used  always  the  childish  pet  name. 
He  had  always  before  written  "Mumsy,"  but  now  she 
had  estranged  him.  Her  eyes  ravished  the  page : 

"Uncle  John  has  had  an  accident,  and  it  has  knocked 
the  pater  out  of  time.  I  thought  you  ought  to  know. 
Sebastian." 

With  pale  lips  she  turned  to  Joe : 

"Bad  news?"  he  asked,  briefly,  reading  her  face. 

"  I  must  get  home,  quickly,  at  once.  How  right  you 
were!" 

He  did  not  stay  to  argue,  or  tell  her  it  was  not  he 
who  had  said  it.  He  set  himself  to  help  her. 

"We'll  have  the  motor  round  again.  Your  maid 
can  follow  with  the  things ;  I'll  take  you  up.  You  shall 
tell  me  all  about  it  as  we  go  along." 

He  was  a  man  upon  whom  to  lean.    Vanessa  had 

182 


SEBASTIAN  183 

prided  herself  on  needing  no  strength  but  her  own ;  but, 
from  the  first,  she  found  Joe  Wallingford  reliable.  It 
seemed  no  time  at  all  from  the  moment  the  servant 
brought  her  the  letter  on  the  salver,  to  when  she  found 
herself  back  again  in  the  familiar  Harley  Street  drawing- 
room,  listening  to  what  had  occurred  in  her  absence. 

Joe  Wallingford  was  with  her,  and  that  made  it  dif- 
ferent somehow.  He  had  brought  her  up  in  the  motor, 
and  she  had  let  him  come  upstairs.  She  heard  that  no 
one  was  at  home.  "Mr.  Sebastian  is  at  the  office,  the 
master  is  with  Mr.  John;  and  so  is  Mr.  William."  It 
seemed  that  Mr.  John  had  been  knocked  down  by  a 
motor-omnibus  yesterday  evening,  they  thought  he 
would  not  live  through  the  night,  but  Mr.  Sebastian  said 
this  morning  he  was  still  alive.  The  master  had  been 
with  him  all  the  time. 

Vanessa  pressed  eager  questions  as  to  how  Mr.  Sebastian 
was  looking;  the  man  could  only  say  he  seemed  very 
distressed  about  his  father. 

Joe  Wallingford,  listening,  was  taking  in  his  surround- 
ings. The  beautiful,  over-full  drawing-room  reflected 
the  personality  of  the  woman  with  whom  he  had  fallen 
in  love.  There  was  no  good  disguising  from  himself 
what  had  happened;  he  made  no  attempt  to  do  so. 
All  the  fine  china,  and  prints,  and  miniatures  were  toys, 
and  she  a  child,  who  played  with  them.  But  the  note 
in  her  voice  when  she  spoke  of  the  boy  was  a  woman's 
note.  It  convinced  him  that  here  indeed  was  her  heart ; 
and  it  seemed  to  him,  in  a  dull  moment  of  disappoint- 
ment, that  she  had  given  all  of  it. 

"I  am  sorry  Sebastian  is  not  at  home  yet;   he  may 


184  SEBASTIAN 

come  in  any  minute.  I  expect  he  has  gone  on  to  Clap- 
ham,"  she  said  to  Joe. 

"Mr.  John  is  not  at  Clapham,  ma'am,"  the  man  in- 
terrupted. "He  is  close  round  here,  at  Dr.  Gifford's; 
they  took  him  to  the  hospital,  but  Dr.  Gifford  had  him 
fetched  away.  Mr.  Sebastian  is  coming  home;  he 
ordered  cold  supper,  so  as  he  could  be  in  when  convenient. 
He  said  he  would  fetch  the  master  along  with  him,  if 
he  could." 

Vanessa  hesitated.  Should  she  go  to  Dr.  Gifford's? 
Should  she  wait?  The  boy  was  unused  to  trouble, 
and  she  knew  not  what  might  be  happening.  David 
was  wrapped  up  in  his  brothers. 

"You  will  be  wanting  to  get  your  things  off.  I'll 
go  in  the  motor,  if  you  give  me  the  address,  and  bring 
you  back  the  latest  news,  or  your  son  — 

She  was  quickly  grateful;  but  Sebastian  forestalled 
him.  He  was  in  the  room,  the  knowledge  of  his  presence 
was  in  her  glad,  satisfied  eyes  ! 

Joe's  heart  felt  cold  and  heavy.  How  near  he  had 
been  to  making  a  fool  of  himself ;  to  believing  that  this 
woman  had  ever  seriously  thought  to  cut  herself  adrift 
from  home,  that  he  could  have  stood  to  her  for  anything 
but  an  outsider.  .  .  . 

There  was  no  sentiment  in  the  greeting  between  mother 
and  son,  and  yet  it  told  him  all  this. 

"That  you,  mater?" 

"I  came  as  quickly  as  possible.  I  only  got  your  letter 
an  hour  and  a  half  ago." 

"You've  come  too  late,"  he  said,  "it's  all  over." 

Then  he  threw  himself  on  the  sofa,  and  she  went  over 


SEBASTIAN  185 

to  him,  knelt  by  him,  put  her  head  down  beside  his, 
said  a  word  or  two  in  his  ear  —  broken  words.  She  was 
so  sorry.  Neither  of  them  noticed  Joe  Wallingford. 
He  was  no  part  of  them,  an  unconsidered  stranger.  He 
went  softly  away,  rather  sore. 

She  had  never  had  tender  words  for  any  man.  She 
could  not  find  them  even  for  Sebastian;  but  she  knelt 
beside  him. 

"Don't  cry;  I  can't  bear  it,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"it  is  not  like  you." 

He  soon  exhausted  his  emotion.  Outwardly  every- 
thing between  them  was  as  it  had  always  been.  It  was 
she  to  whom  he  could  always  talk. 

"  It  has  been  awful,  too  awful !  Thank  God  you've 
come.  Uncle  William  is  off  his  head.  He  just  sits  and 
moans,  and  rocks  himself  and  gets  out :  '  I'm  the  eldest. 
It  ought  to  have  been  me ;  it  isn't  fair,  it  ought  to  have 
been  me.'  The  governor  tries  to  comfort  him.  He  says : 
'Pull  yourself  together,  Bill,  pull  yourself  together.' 
He  repeats  it  over  and  over  again.  And  then  he  lies  on 
John's  bed,  and  cries." 

Sebastian's  voice  broke. 

"Uncle  John  only  spoke  about  once.  He  said:  'It's 
all  right,  Will,  it's  all  right,  Dave;  we've  got  the  boy, 
you  won't  miss  me." 

"Can  anything  be  done?" 

Sebastian  gradually  regained  his  composure.  He 
had  an  awed  sense  of  responsibility ;  he  knew  there  was 
a  great  deal  to  do.  Uncle  William  was  off  his  head,  and 
his  father  was  dazed  with  grief.  He  would  not  have 
broken  down  in  this  way,  but  for  finding  his  mother  wait- 


186  SEBASTIAN 

ing  for  him,  but  for  her  familiar  eyes  and  speech,  and  the 
knowledge  that  nothing  need  be  said,  that  all  was  right 
between  them  once  more. 

"He  died  half  an  hour  ago.  The  governor  is  still 
sitting  by  him,  all  stunned  and  quiet.  But  they  can't 
quiet  Uncle  Will ;  he  goes  on  talking  to  him  — "he  broke 
off  again.  "  It's  awful !  I've  got  to  go  out  to  Clapham, 
and  tell  them  there.  The  pater  will  be  in  presently, 
you'll  look  after  him." 

"But  you  must  have  something  to  eat  first." 

She  took  practical  command  at  once.  He  was  glad 
to  be  taken  care  of,  made  to  eat,  to  drink  a  pint  of  cham- 
pagne, to  tell  what  he  knew,  to  talk.  He  was  so  young. 

He  said:  "Aren't  you  glad  now  that  I'm  in  the  busi- 
ness ?  I  suppose  it's  some  sort  of  Providence  made  me 
obstinate  about  it.  I  can  take  something  off  the  pater's 
shoulders." 

But  all  of  her  heart  was  with  him  hi  the  immediate 
present,  and  she  was  feeling  acutely  her  past  disloyalty. 

"  I  will  go  out  to  Clapham  instead  of  you.  You  have 
been  with  your  father  all  through,  and  it  will  be  no  fresh 
excitement  for  him  to  see  you  when  he  comes  back." 

"I  expect  he  would  rather  have  you." 

Before,  however,  they  had  got  through  with  supper 
or  plans,  Dr.  Gifford  arrived  in  Harley  Street,  bringing 
David  with  him.  David  was  very  grey  and  quiet.  He 
did  not  seem  surprised  at  seeing  Vanessa  there. 

"Sebastian  has  wanted  you,"  he  said,  dully. 

Vanessa  made  him  sit  down;  she  pressed  food  and 
drink  upon  him;  she  tried,  wordlessly,  to  comfort  him. 
Dr.  Gifford  soon  left  the  three  together.  He  was  taking 


SEBASTIAN  187 

William  home  later,  he  thought  the  old  housekeeper,  and 
the  people  to  whom  he  was  accustomed,  would  be  best 
able  to  meet  his  needs. 

Vanessa  went  out  in  the  hall  with  the  doctor,  and 
was  told  the  truth.  William  Kendall  had  had  a  shock 
from  which  he  might  not  recover.  He  was  over  sixty, 
and  had  been  failing  somewhat,  lately,  in  many  ways. 

"Put  your  husband  to  bed;  keep  him  there,  warm, 
lightly  fed,  as  quiet  as  possible.  He  has  taken  it  better 
than  I  could  have  expected,  and  will  probably  be  all 
right,  if  we  get  through  the  next  few  hours.  Sebastian 
can  make  the  arrangements  for  the  funeral.  Tell  him 
to  come  round  in  the  morning,  about  ten.  I'll  have  the 
certificate  ready." 

"He  is  so  young." 

"He  is  quite  able  to  do  all  that  is  necessary.  And  at 
the  office  —  it's  a  good  thing  he  is  there.  It  is  the  only 
chance  of  keeping  Kendall  in  bed." 

Vanessa  went  back  to  the  dining-room.  Both  hus- 
band and  son  were  very  silent,  awaiting  her.  Sebastian, 
with  the  recuperative  power  of  youth,  was  almost  cheer- 
ful. And  exhausted  as  he  was,  and  desperately  miser- 
able, David  wanted  Vanessa  to  know  they  were  glad  of 
her  presence.  He  exerted  himself  to  eat  a  little,  to  drink 
what  was  urged  upon  him.  It  seemed  natural  presently 
that  they  should  both  of  them  be  going  upstairs  with 
him,  mother  and  son  conveyed  a  message  to  each  other, 
simultaneously.  David  must  have  Sebastian's  room, 
the  one  that  opened  into  Vanessa's;  he  would  want 
company  that  night,  comfort,  the  sound  of  a  human 
voice.  They  would  not  heed  his  protests.  And  he  was 
almost  too  broken  to  urge  that  they  must  not  mind  him. 


188  SEBASTIAN 

After  he  had  been  got  to  bed,  Vanessa  sat  talking  in 
her  own  room  to  Sebastian,  far  into  the  night.  They 
said  little  of  what  had  divided  them.  The  intimacy 
between  them  was  still  there,  but,  perhaps,  it  was  a 
different  intimacy.  There  was  remorse,  and  a  new 
tenderness  in  Vanessa.  Before  this,  Sebastian  had  only 
loved  and  admired  his  mother;  now  he  judged  her. 
It  was  for  his  father,  and  not  for  himself  only,  he  had  been 
resentful.  He  could  not  forget  it  all  at  once,  yet  he 
was  himself  unconscious  of  the  change.  If  he  never 
again  accepted  her  quite  so  unreservedly,  on  the  surface, 
all  was  as  before.  She  needed  the  assurance  of  his  love ; 
the  knowledge  he  had  missed  her  was  bitter-sweet  and 
poignant.  There  was  no  long-winded  explanation.  She 
did  not  try  to  palliate  her  conduct.  All  he  told  her  was : 

"I  was  sorry  you  took  it  that  way,  my  going  into 
business.  I  had  to  do  it.  We  have  always  talked  things 
out  before,  and  it  made  everything  rotten." 

"I  was  wrong,  I  was  mistaken,  unreasonable,  illogical:" 
her  heart  cried  how  wrong  she  had  been.  She  was  gen- 
erous and  passionate  in  her  admission  of  it,  there  was  no 
hesitation  or  reserve. 

"The  pater  had  the  hump  over  you." 

"I  was  fearfully  depressed  the  whole  time,  homesick 
for  you.  Don't  reproach  me  more  than  you  can  help  !" 

"Of  course  I  know  it  was  only  because  you  thought 
such  a  lot  of  me." 

"I  do  still."  They  smiled  at  each  other.  Things 
were  very  nearly  as  they  had  always  been  between 
them,  the  sense  of  companionship,  and  comprehension 
was  still  there. 


SEBASTIAN  189 

"I  daresay  you  are  right.  Uncle  John  said  he'd 
never  seen  any  one  take  to  the  accountancy  like  I  did : 
figuring  is  awfully  easy  to  me.  Mater,  isn't  it  funny 
when  you  think  it  was  classics  brought  me  up  in  every- 
thing at  Eton ;  and  now  it's  only  my  mathematics  that 
are  any  good.  And  the  mill  too ;  there's  simply  nothing 
left  for  me  to  learn  in  the  way  of  making  hand-made 
paper." 

"Then  you  like  it?" 

"Well !  I  wouldn't  go  as  far  as  that."  He  sat  silent 
for  a  minute.  But  he  was  used  to  letting  her  see  into  his 
thoughts. 

"I  suppose  I  am  a  bit  of  a  snob.  I  hate  selling  the 
stuff.  I  went  round  to  Wroughton's  with  the  governor ; 
they  are  going  to  have  a  new  magazine,  archaeological, 
and  they  are  doing  it  top-up.  Well,  it  happens  Wrough- 
ton  minor  was  at  my  tutor's.  He  was  still  in  remove 
when  I  was  in  first  hundred  —  Sebastian  paused,  and 
then  went  on,  with  a  short  laugh : 

"The  little  beast  patronised  me.  'I'll  give  you  a  leg 
up  with  the  governor/  he  said,  whilst  the  pater  was  talk- 
ing; 'there  are  three  of  you  in  it  for  quality  and  price, 
but  you'll  get  the  order,  you  see.' " 

"Irritating!" 

"Sickening,  wasn't  it?  I  wanted  to  tell  him  to  go 
to  the  devil.  But  when  we  came  out  of  the  office  the 
pater  said  I  seemed  quite  friendly  with  young  John 
Wroughton,  and  that  he  thought  it  would  be  of  use !" 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  bear  it  all." 

"The  governor  has  been  ever  so  much  better,  in  a  lot 
of  ways.  Dr.  Gifford  says  he  is  pounds  stronger." 


190  SEBASTIAN 

"There  was  never  such  a  son." 

"That's  rot ! "  But  he  was  quite  pleased  with  himself, 
nevertheless,  and  ready  to  sit  up  any  length  of  time, 
hearing  Vanessa  expatiate  upon  the  theme. 

David  rallied  from  the  shock  of  his  brother's  death, 
but  William  Kendall  never  rallied,  passing,  by  slow 
stages,  from  feeble  misery  to  happier  vacuity,  and  second 
childhood. 

David  and  Sebastian  were  all  that  were  left  to  maintain 
the  prestige,  and  the  status,  of  P.  and  A.  Kendall  and 
Co.  It  was  pitiful  during  the  next  few  months  to  note 
David's  efforts  to  guard  the  boy  from  overwork,  from 
over-anxiety,  to  make  things  easy  for  him,  to  take  burden 
after  burden  from  the  young  shoulders,  to  press  upon  his 
own.  And  always  he  belittled  his  efforts : 

"You  have  no  idea  how  that  boy  works,"  he  told 
Vanessa,  often.  "You  should  make  him  take  a  day 
off  now  and  again.  Can't  you  think  of  some  way  of 
persuading  him  away  from  the  City?" 

"I  have  never  been  able  to  persuade  you  away  from 
it,"  she  would  answer,  drily.  But  indeed  with  her  new, 
softer  vision  she  had  heartache  over  both  of  them,  her 
first  consciousness  of  a  heart  was  the  pain  she  felt  there. 
Sebastian  was  a  man  before  he  had  grown  out  of  boyhood. 
That  man  and  boy  warred  in  him,  to  the  advantage  of 
neither,  she  saw  dimly. 

The  year  that  John  Kendall  died,  and  William  Kendall 
began  to  die,  Vanessa  Kendall  relinquished  her  pen. 
Sebastian  taught  her,  or  perhaps  in  some  indefinable 
way,  Joe  Wallingford  had  taught  her,  how  little  of  value 
she  was  abandoning.  This  was  the  year  that  she  began 


SEBASTIAN  191 

to  grow  toward  womanhood,  opening  her  heart,  widening 
her  sympathies.  Her  pen  lay  idle,  but  her  eyes  began 
to  see. 

Not  very  clearly  at  first,  nor  very  quickly.  They 
had  been  blind  eyes  so  long,  focused  to  MSS.,  lost  to  a 
larger  perspective. 

If  puppets,  and  prints,  and  china  were  to  be  displaced, 
what  was  she  to  put  in  their  stead  ?  Always  there  had 
been  Sebastian  and  Stella,  and  the  uneasy  knowledge 
of  David's  worth :  none  of  this  was  new.  Was  Joe  Wal- 
lingf ord  to  supply  the  answer  ? 

He  was  constantly  in  Harley  Street,  coming  up  from 
Workington  on  Saturday,  and  staying  in  London  over 
the  week,  becoming  an  habitue  of  her  house,  taking  in 
Sebastian  and  David  with  his  quick  intelligence,  helpful 
to  them  all  in  a  way,  and  impressing  his  personality. 

Stella,  temporarily  restored  to  her  normal  indifferent 
health,  became  cognisant  of  the  newcomer,  and  his  in- 
fluence. She  jeered  at  it  gently,  but  not  without  a  little 
jealousy.  She  could  not  bear  that  any  one  should  have 
a  serious  place  in  her  sister's  interest.  Sebastian  was 
the  only  rival  she  tolerated,  and  that  not  without  reser- 
vations. 

Stella  was  a  little  irritable  with  her  sister  these  days : 
the  source  of  it  lay  deep. 

"You  still  think  Sebastian  is  a  genius,  I  suppose,"  she 
said  to  Vanessa,  "  although  he  is  selling  paper  in  the  City, 
and  adopting  a  City  attitude  toward  life?" 

Vanessa  had  to  admit  that  her  opinion  of  Sebastian's 
talents  had  not  altered,  and  almost  humbly  she  added 
that  her  opinion  of  his  character  was  higher  than  it  had 


192  SEBASTIAN 

ever  been.  She  realised  now  how  finely  and  quickly 
he  had  seen  his  duty  to  his  father,  how  loyally  he  was 
performing  it;  she  saw  her  own  inferiority  to  him  both 
in  perception  and  action. 

And  this  canonisation  of  Sebastian  at  the  mother's 
expense,  was  a  little  exasperating  to  Stella,  who  loved 
her  sister  and  only  tolerated  her  nephew.  She  said 
little  jeering  things  about  him  on  every  occasion.  Va- 
nessa, always  conscious  of  Stella's  loneliness  in  life,  of 
her  unhappy  marriage,  restrained  her  replies,  made 
every  possible  allowance  for  a  temper  embittered  by 
circumstance.  But  she  was  conscious  of  a  growing 
estrangement,  conscious  that  now  she  oftener  sought  her 
sister's  companionship  from  a  sense  of  duty  than  of 
pleasure. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

SEBASTIAN  took  little  advantage  of  his  father's 
solicitude.  He  worked  his  eight  or  ten  hours  a  day 
in  the  City,  or  at  the  mills,  conscientiously  learning  the 
intricacies  of  the  paper  trade,  and  incidentally  of  the 
weakness  in  the  methods  of  Messrs.  P.  and  A.  Kendall, 
a  weakness  he  saw  a  hundred  easy  ways  of  remedying ! 

But  he  was  not  yet  twenty,  and  play,  of  a  sort,  was 
as  essential  to  his  growth  as  work.  Pleasey  Pleyden- 
Carr,  and  his  cousin  Bice,  each  took  their  separate 
place.  With  the  first,  his  intimacy  grew.  His  idealism 
gilded  the  pale  hair,  made  queenly  and  beautiful  the 
slight  figure,  rare  and  delicate  the  reserve  that  found 
their  friendship  always  at  the  same  level.  That  secret 
sentimentality,  that  never  wholly  left  him,  made  the 
girl's  poverty  and  dependence  part  of  her  charm,  light- 
ing and  keeping  warm  his  chivalry,  deepening  his  feel- 
ing for  her.  And  Bice  was  ever  his  confidante,  although 
they  talked  in  ellipsis,  finding  together  illuminative 
love  passages  from  Browning  and  Shakespeare,  letting 
it  be  understood,  almost  without  words  between  them, 
how  it  was  with  him. 

And  the  St.  Maurs  added  zest  to  the  lives  of  the 
young  people.  They  were  always  getting  up  enter- 
tainments, giving  dinner  parties,  theatre  parties,  im- 
promptu dances.  Mrs.  St.  Maur  had  now  got  it  well 

o  193 


194  SEBASTIAN 

into  her  frizzled  head,  and  established  behind  her  beam- 
ing glasses,  that  the  Kendalls  and  the  Ashtons  "  mattered" 
that  they  were  really  amongst  the  most  distinguished  of 
her  acquaintances  !  She  had  even  little  obvious  schemes, 
and  intrigues,  about  Bice  and  Reggie,  about  Sebastian 
and  the  fat  Viola.  If  the  young  St.  Maurs  knew  what 
was  in  store  for  them,  Sebastian  and  Bice  were  igno- 
rant. They  lived  on  a  higher  plane  of  feeling  than  the 
others,  love  itself  was  a  sacrament,  marriage  dazzling, 
inchoate,  dim  in  the  distance,  a  little  beyond  their 
young  vision. 

Bice  would  willingly,  cheerfully,  at  any  time  have 
given  her  life  for  her  cousin.  All  that  he  took  from 
her,  however,  was  her  tireless  sympathy  for  his  love  of 
Pleasey  Pleyden-Carr. 

It  was,  nevertheless,  in  pursuance  of  the  matrimonial 
schemes,  doomed  to  prove  abortive,  that  the  St.  Maurs 
decided  to  devote  their  autumn  to  private  theatricals. 
This  was  Sebastian's  second  year  in  business.  He  was 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  there  was  a  little  down  on  his 
upper  lip,  dark  and  becoming.  Viola's  frocks  were  hur- 
riedly lengthened,  and  the  theatricals  suddenly  decided 
upon. 

Naturally,  with  a  Sebastian  and  Viola  in  the  caste, 
Twelfth  Night  was  selected.  The  incongruity  of  the  fat 
and  auburn-haired  Viola  with  her  suppositious  twin,  was 
of  no  moment  to  Mrs.  St.  Maur. 

"They  can  both  be  dressed  alike,  and  Mr.  Clarkson 
will  see  about  the  wigs,"  she  said,  comfortably,  when 
it  was  brought  before  her,  overriding  all  difficulties, 
talking  volubly,  quoting  the  absurd  dicta  of  insig- 


SEBASTIAN  195 

nificant  people,  beginning  already  to  get  out  a  list  of 
guests  who  might  attend  the  performance. 

But  it  was  Bice  who  did  all  the  real  work,  organising 
everything  admirably,  arranging  rehearsals,  settling 
costumes,  casting  the  parts  among  her  college  friends 
and  their  brothers.  Mrs.  St.  Maur  wanted  Reggie  to 
play  Orsino,  and  at  first  he  agreed  with  her,  could  not 
see  himself  as  anything  but  the  love-sick  Duke  of 
Illyria !  It  was  Bice  who  reminded  him,  and  that 
without  offence,  of  his  height,  and  of  his  glasses;  who 
finally  persuaded  him  to  Sir  Andrew,  where,  incidentally 
it  may  be  noted,  he  achieved  a  well-merited  success. 
It  was  she,  too,  who  preserved  Olivia  for  Pleasey, 
fighting  for  her,  with  almost  incredible  obstinacy,  as 
she  would  never  have  fought  for  herself.  And  thus 
securing  Sebastian  his  great  opportunity. 

The  rehearsals  brought  the  families  together  as  they 
could  never  otherwise  have  been  brought.  Mrs.  St. 
Maur  was  one  continual  beam  of  malapropos  delight. 
She  called  everybody  by  their  wrong  name,  and  dis- 
played a  most  naive,  and  to  the  young  people,  other 
than  her  own,  delightful,  ignorance  of  the  play,  the 
characters,  and  the  appropriate  scenery.  Viola,  for  in- 
stance, had  a  pretty  little  voice;  Mrs.  St.  Maur  re- 
ported that  her  music-master  said  it  was  just  like 
Patti's,  but  more  refined !  It  was  Bice,  no  one  but 
she  could  have  done  it,  who  put  Viola  into  motley, 
cast  her  for  the  part  of  the  clown,  promising  her  be- 
wildered mother  that  she  would  bring  down  the  house 
in  that  comic  barcarolle,  "Come  away,  death." 

Sebastian  was  urgent  that  Viola  should  wear  page's 


196  SEBASTIAN 

costume,  and  exhibit  her  legs.  Mrs.  St.  Maur  was 
quite  flattered,  almost  looking  upon  it  as  a  proposal, 
when  he  said  that  she  would  look  like  one  of  his  mother's 
colour  prints,  like  the  Morland,  that  hung  on  the  stair- 
case. It  was  only  Bice  who  knew  that  it  was  the 
"Girl  with  Calves"  to  which  he  was  alluding,  and  who 
enjoyed  his  ribald  merriment ! 

Everybody  had  incredible  fun  out  of  Mrs.  St.  Maur; 
there  was  hardly  anything  they  could  not  make  her 
believe  that  Shakespeare  had  written,  in  his  directions 
to  the  players.  Bice  and  Sebastian  talked  learnedly  of 
the  second  folio,  or  the  fourth,  arguing  divers  readings. 
Mrs.  St.  Maur  became  confused  between  the  folios  and 
the  Follies,  and  actually  took  the  whole  party  to  the 
Hippodrome  to  hear  how  the  songs  went ! 

Of  course  both  Stella  and  Vanessa  heard  what  was 
going  on.  At  first  they  were,  amused,  afterwards  their 
sense  of  justice  made  them  think  the  St.  Maurs  were 
being  hardly  used.  Their  hospitalities  were  endless, 
the  young  people  were  entertained  almost  daily,  suppers 
following  the  rehearsals.  There  were  impromptu  dances, 
the  whole  house  given  up  to  their  pleasure. 

"We  ought  really  to  do  something  for  them,"  Stella 
said.  "  It  is  all  very  well  making  fun  of  Mrs.  St.  Maur, 
and  doing  imitations  of  her  husband;  but  they  are 
giving  the  children  the  time  of  their  lives.  I  do  not 
see  what  they  are  getting  hi  return." 

Vanessa  suggested,  somewhat  hesitatingly,  that  she 
could  secure  press  notices. 

"If  they  did  it  for  a  charity,  took  one  of  the  smaller 
theatres,  and  advertised  it  properly,  they  would  obtain 


SEBASTIAN  197 

what  they  would  like  better  than  anything  in  the  world 
—  recognition  paragraphs.  We  could  get  some  of  the 
right  people  to  go.  For  once,  they  would  have  guests 
such  as  they  seek.  I  believe  we  do  owe  it  to  them." 

The  St.  Maurs  were  easily  persuaded  to  take  the 
"Coronet  Theatre,"  to  undertake  the  whole  expense  of 
the  entertainment,  costumes,  and  the  house,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  "Infant  Orphan  Asylum"  that  Stella 
suggested.  Both  Stella  and  Vanessa  worked,  in  the 
end,  for  the  success  of  the  show,  although  Stella  could 
not  refrain  once  or  twice  from  querying  the  complete 
purity  of  Vanessa's  motive. 

"Why  do  you  bother  about  writing  round  to  the 
editors?  Don't  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  Sebas- 
tian will  get  his  headlines  without  any  trouble?  The 
merest  tyro  in  journalism  —  even  the  old  drunkards 
who  are  kept  on  the  staff  to  report  on  amateur  per- 
formances —  know  that  it  is  better  copy  to  allude  to 
'the  talented  grandson  of  John  Hepplewight-Ventom, 
the  son  of  the  brilliant  novelist,  Vanessa  Kendall/  than 
to  seriously  consider  Twelfth  Night." 

"The  grandchildren  of  John  Hepplewight-Ventom," 
she  corrected. 

Vanessa  was  in  very  good  spirits  these  days.  She 
had  put  "Between  the  Nisi  and  the  Absolute"  on  one 
side,  but  Joe  Wallingford  was  taking  articles  from  her, 
and  keeping  her  mind  employed.  Also,  her  conscience 
was  resting.  She  had  given  Sebastian  to  his  father, 
and  so  was  out  of  debt  to  him.  Joe  never  let  her  lose 
sight  of  the  possibilities  attached  to  a  commercial 
career.  There  was  hardly  a  day  but  some  question  or 


198  SEBASTIAN 

answer  of  Sebastian's,  some  narration  or  allusion, 
proved  to  her  that  his  intellectuality  was  alive.  She 
thought  little,  or  nothing,  of  the  flirtation  between 
him  and  Miss  Pleyden-Carr.  To  her,  pale  Pleasey  pre- 
sented herself  unattractively,  and  she  magnified  the 
slight  difference  in  their  ages. 

The  great  night  of  the  performance  arrived.  A  cer- 
tain number  of  pressmen  had  been  secured,  and  an 
unprecedented  audience.  The  St.  Maurs  were  more 
than  prominent.  Mrs.  St.  Maur  appeared  to  pervade 
at  least  two  boxes,  resplendent  in  violet  satin,  nodding 
plumes,  and  volubility.  Hilary  St.  Maur  was  in  all 
the  stalls  at  once,  telling  everybody  who  everybody 
else  was,  generally  wrong,  and  wearing  the  white  flower 
of  his  blameless  life,  large  in  his  buttonhole,  usually 
entangled  in  the  string  of  his  glasses,  as  he  stooped 
officiously  over  inoffensive  people,  and  assumed  inti- 
macy when  there  was  hardly  acquaintanceship. 

Stella  was  hi  the  lower  box,  level  with  the  stalls. 
Behind  her  was  Lord  Saighton.  Lord  Saighton  was  her 
contribution  to  the  show.  Both  of  them  were  enter- 
tained by  the  St.  Maurs;  afterwards,  when  the  curtain 
had  risen,  in  considering  Vanessa. 

"Do  you  think  she  really  does  believe  that  boy  of 
hers  to  be  Irving,  and  Tree,  and  George  Alexander, 
rolled  into  one?"  she  asked  him. 

Lord  Saighton  had  no  doubt  at  all  about  it. 

"Yes!  I  have  been  watching  her,  and  it  is  quite 
obvious  there  is  no  one  else  on  all  the  stage,  no  play, 
and  no  performers.  Her  eyes  follow  him,  and  when  he 
is  off  the  stage,  all  her  interest  goes.  She  sits  back, 


SEBASTIAN  199 

she  has  forgotten  the  play,  and  the  stage,  she  is  think- 
ing of  something  else.  I  see  Kendall  is  with  her  to- 
night. I  don't  know  when  I  have  seen  them  out  to- 
gether before.  He  looks  very  ill.  And  who  is  the 
rough-hewn  giant  beside  them?  It  can't  be  Walling- 
ford,  can  it?" 

"Yes,  that  is  the  Colossus  of  Workington.  As  for 
David  Kendall,  he  is  Vanessa's  new  rdle.  Some  one  has 
told  her  he  is  going  to  die.  Or  else  she  has  fallen  in 
love,  and  her  conscientiousness  takes  it  that  way.  But 
love,  I  should  imagine  to  be  impossible  to  Vanessa." 

She  gave  a  quick  sigh.  Would  it  had  been  impos- 
sible to  her  too !  Her  companion  looked  at  her : 

"Are  you  unhappy?"   he  asked,  gently. 

"No!  Quite  happy,"  she  answered,  cynically,  "how 
could  I  be  otherwise,  with  you  beside  me,  the  cynosure 
of  all  eyes,  and  our  positions  so  secure!" 

"You  are  always  haunted  by  the  fear  of  Jack's 
return,  and  what  he  might  say  or  do!" 

"Is  there  any  other  reason  why  you  banished  your- 
self from  the  House?"  she  answered. 

But  they  had  threshed  it  out  a  score  of  times,  and 
nothing  could  be  done  or  altered. 

To-night  was  the  first  time  it  entered  Vanessa's 
head  that  Lord  Saighton  was  a  very  attractive  man, 
and  Stella  still  young,  and  perhaps  susceptible.  It  is 
possible  it  was  Joe  who  drew  her  attention  to  it.  But 
if  so,  it  was  quite  unconsciously: 

"Isn't  that  Lord  Saighton  with  your  sister?"  he 
asked.  "The  last  place  in  the  world  I  should  have 
expected  to  find  him !  I  suppose,  one  way  and  an- 


200  SEBASTIAN 

other,  no  public  career  has  ever  been  quite  as  inex- 
plicable as  Saighton's.  He  had  the  ball  at  his  feet, 
and  he  would  not  kick  it.  There  must  have  been  a 
reason." 

"The  public  ascribed  the  usual  one,"  she  answered, 
lightly. 

"But  it  was  scarcely  sufficient." 

Then  it  was  that  it  struck  her  about  Stella's  possible 
susceptibility.  And  her  conscience  troubled  her  that 
she  had  been  less  affectionate,  less  attentive  to  Stella 
lately.  She  was  her  sister's  natural  defence  against 
the  world.  She  became,  all  at  once,  indefinitely  un- 
easy, and  her  pleasure  in  the  performance  was  damped. 
Whenever  Sebastian  was  not  on  the  stage,  her  thoughts 
wandered  to  Stella.  Lord  Saighton  had  been  right  in 
thinking  her  mind  was  only  on  the  stage  when  the  boy 
was  there,  but  he  was  far  from  suspecting  where  it  had 
wandered. 

She  must  warn  Stella  against  Lord  Saighton,  she 
must  throw  the  bulwark  of  her  constant  companion- 
ship around  the  defencelessness  of  the  deserted  wife. 
Once  more  she  doubted  if  she  had  ever  been  justified  in 
writing  novels. 

These  thoughts  possessed  her  through  Sebastian's 
enthusiastic  reception  and  the  excitement  of  the  trium- 
phant finale.  For  of  course  it  appeared  to  her  as  a 
triumph.  Surely  his  acting  stood  out  among  the  others, 
his  voice  carried,  and  his  love-making  scene  with  Olivia 
had  both  grace  and  conviction!  No  one  seemed  to 
touch  him  in  talent  or  consequence,  and  it  was  his  per- 
sonality that  dominated  the  stage. 


SEBASTIAN  201 

The  announcement,  made  by  Mr.  St.  Maur,  that  the 
"Charity  had  benefited  to  the  extent  of  one  hundred 
and  seventeen  pounds,  and  that  Mrs.  St.  Maur  had 
added  a  subscription  to  make  up  the  amount  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,"  was  received  with  a  burst 
of  applause. 

Then  came  calls  for  the  actors,  and  Sebastian's  ap- 
pearance with  Pleasey.  Bice,  too,  had  her  meed  of 
praise.  Both  mothers  might  be  proud  and  satisfied. 

There  was  to  be  a  ball  and  supper  at  the  Grafton 
Galleries;  everybody  hurried  to  get  away,  invitations 
had  been  liberally  scattered.  Lady  de  Cliffe  intercepted 
Vanessa  to  give  forth  a  sparkling  witticism  or  two.  Sir 
George  was  with  her;  she  had  accomplished  all  her 
desires,  and  was  alight  with  flashes  of  miasmic  bril- 
liancy. 

"Sir  George  is  coming  on  with  me  to  supper.  Keep 
a  table,  we  shall  make  a  charming  party.  How  quiet 
you  have  kept  your  affair  with  the  Wallingford  !  Every- 
body says  you  are  only  trying  to  sell  him  your  next 
book !  Your  discretion  is  an  absolute  byword.  And 
your  sister  is  here  with  Saighton,  the  St.  Maurs 
as  proud  as  if  they  had  invented  the  liaison.  I 
haven't  seen  Saighton  since  he  made  love  to  me  in 
the  schoolroom,  and  pretended  it  was  paternal.  Do 
get  him!" 

Vanessa  tried  to  reach  her  sister,  but  the  crowd 
divided  them.  She  wanted  to  speak  to  Stella;  the 
impression  of  discomfort,  uneasiness  had  deepened. 
Joe  seemed  to  realise  it,  instinctively,  or  perhaps  a 
whisper  had  reached  him. 


202  SEBASTIAN 

"They  are  old  friends,"  he  said,  following  her  thought. 
"Slander  hurts  no  one  but  the  slanderer." 

"He  was  an  intimate  friend  of  her  husband's/'  was 
the  quick  reply. 

But  all  that  evening,  watching  Sebastian  dance, 
thinking  no  one  danced  so  gracefully,  receiving  con- 
gratulations, talking,  supping,  it  was  in  the  back- 
ground of  Vanessa's  mind  that  Stella  was  threatened 
by  some  danger,  and  was  unhappy;  that  she  had  neg- 
lected her  responsibilities,  allowed  herself  to  be  mo- 
mentarily estranged  by  a  verbal  flippancy  that  might 
be  covering  some  new  dilemma  or  distress. 

David  had  gone  home  straight  from  the  theatre. 
Late  nights,  dances,  and  suppers  were  not  for  him. 
He  had  seen  Sebastian  act,  and  that  was  sufficient. 
Joe  Wallingford  was  with  Vanessa  the  greater  part  of 
the  evening;  she  did  not  dance,  but  she  was  continu- 
ally surrounded  by  friends  whose  voices  warred  with 
the  band.  Joe  had  little  of  her  mind.  As  much  of  it 
as  she  could  spare  from  Sebastian  was  following  Stella 
into  the  night.  Stella's  face  came  back  to  Vanessa 
amid  gyrating  figures,  the  music,  the  talk  and  laughter 
around  her.  It  was  an  unhappy  face,  haunting.  Some 
of  Stella's  prettiness  was  going.  Vanessa  had  a  quick 
pang  when  she  recalled  it;  the  revealing  pink  in  the 
lids  of  the  blue  eyes  had  struck  her  to-night.  She  was 
full  of  self-reproach  that  she  had  resented  sharp  speech, 
or  failed  in  kindness. 

Poor  Joe !  He  had  always  known  he  had  set  his 
heart  on  a  woman  who  had  not  room  for  him,  and 
to-night  she  made  it  clearer  than  ever.  He  could  do 


SEBASTIAN  203 

nothing  for  her,  and  be  nothing  to  her.  And  there  was 
no  other  woman  for  him.  If  he  underrated  her  literary 
importance,  or  her  lineage,  he  was  supremely  conscious 
of  her  social  grace. 

Stella,  like  David,  had  gone  straight  home  from  the 
theatre.  Vanessa  was  supposed  to  be  chaperoning 
Bice,  and,  at  least,  she  succeeded  in  keeping  Lady  de 
Cliffe  from  their  table.  Joe  took  them  all  home  in  the 
motor  he  had  kept  waiting.  The  boy  talked  inces- 
santly of  the  events  of  the  evening,  of  Pleasey  Pleyden- 
Carr's  dancing,  and  her  acting.  Vanessa  listened  with 
only  half  an  ear.  But  Bice  was  whole-hearted  in  praise 
of  "Olivia."  None  of  them  paid  much  heed  to  Joe 
Wallingford,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  Workington's 
great  man,  and  already  of  some  consequence  in  a  larger 
sphere. 

"Good-night,  and  thanks,"  Vanessa  said  to  him  at 
the  door,  holding  out  her  hand.  They  had  dropped 
Bice,  he  might  have  expected  her  attention  now. 

"  It  was  awfully  good  of  you  to  come  up.  I  hope  you 
were  not  bored,"  Sebastian  added,  politely. 

But  they  had  forgotten  him  before  the  street 
door  shut  them  into  their  warm  companionship,  for- 
gotten him  before  the  sough  of  the  motor  had  died  in 
the  street.  He  knew  it,  but  he  knew  it  without  bitter- 
ness; not  without  envy,  perhaps. 

Vanessa  was  not  quite  in  the  mood  for  Sebastian. 
He  wanted  to  talk  about  the  "show,"  about  the  scenery, 
about  the  St.  Maurs.  It  was  with  difficulty  Vanessa 
persuaded  him  to  bed. 

"It  is  nearly  three  o'clock,  and  you  have  got  to  be  up 


204  SEBASTIAN 

at  eight.  Go  to  bed  now,  there's  a  dear  boy.  We  will 
talk  of  it  to-morrow.  You  had  a  great  success,  a  great 
triumph.  And  Bice  too.  There  were  no  waits,  the 
whole  thing  was  admirably  done,  unlike  any  other 
amateur  performance.  We  will  talk  it  over  to-morrow. 
I  am  tired  now.  Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IT  was  Stella  haunted  her  night. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  morning  of  the  next  day, 
hardly  noon,  when  she  was  in  Weymouth  Street,  seek- 
ing words,  embarrassed,  she  hardly  knew  at  what. 

Always  Stella  was  surrounded  by  flowers,  to-day 
her  room  was  full  of  violet  and  yellow  orchids,  rare  and 
costly.  She  wore  a  tea-gown,  made  out  of  an  em- 
broidered cre~pe  de  chine  kimona,  many  coloured  and 
quaint.  She  looked  singularly  attractive  to  Vanessa, 
and  was  for  once  in  high  spirits,  and  humour. 

"  Well !  did  I  ever  see  such  a  Sebastian  as  Sebastian  ? 
No !  I  never  did.  And  have  I  seen  the  press  notices  ? 
Yes !  I  have,  and  I  think  they  are  wonderful,  and  he  is 
wonderful,  and  you  are  more  wonderful  than  either,  to 
think  they  matter.  Sit  down,  I  haven't  seen  you  for  an 
age.  It  went  off  well,  didn't  it  ?  Bice  is  delighted  with 
Sebastian,  and  incidentally  with  herself.  Anything  the 
matter?"  Stella  could  read  her  sister  like  a  book; 
"you  look  worried,  or  anxious.  Has  anything  happened 
to  the  paragon?  Did  he  drink  too  much  champagne 
last  night,  or  dance  too  often  with  Pleasey  ?  " 

"Look  here,  Stella." 

"Where?" 

"I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"I  thought  perhaps  you  did  not  come  round  to  re- 
main entirely  silent." 

205 


206  SEBASTIAN 

"About  something  —  rather  serious."  She  was  em- 
barrassed, even  with  Stella  it  seemed  a  liberty  she  was 
about  to  take.  Stella  was  interested  and  curious. 

"  Go  on,  don't  make  too  much  fuss  about  it,  whatever 
it  is." 

"I  won't.  You  know  you  are  rather  an  attractive 
woman.  .  ." 

"Why  only  'rather'  attractive?" 

"And  Lord  Saightori  is  in  many  ways  a  remarkable 
man." 

"  Oh !  that's  it,  is  it  ?  Your  text  is  Lord  Saighton  ! 
Go  on  with  the  sermon.  I  am  in  the  rare  position  of 
being  able  to  answer  its  argument.  You  have  not  all 
the  best  of  it,  like  the  parson  in  his  ungetatable  pulpit." 

Stella,  suddenly  grave,  felt  she  must  treat  the  matter 
lightly.  How  blind  Vanessa  had  been  all  these  years ! 
Who,  or  what,  had  opened  her  eyes,  and  what  had  she 
seen? 

"  I  am  fascinating,  and  Lord  Saighton  is  remarkable ! 
Where  is  there  a  connection,  or  isn't  there  a  connection  ? 
You  remember,  I  suppose,"  she  added,  with  a  touch  of 
bitterness  under  the  lightness,  "that  Jack  is  not  dead. 
He  is  only  living  with  another  woman,  and  honouring 
the  Argentine  Republic,  until  he  has  spent  all  they  have 
taken  with  them  that  was  mine." 

"  I  know,  I  know." 

She  knew  how  desperately  Stella  had  been  treated, 
and  how  little  she  deserved  it.  "  I  don't  talk  about  it, 
but  I  never  really  forget." 

They  were  twins,  and  she  never  forgot  in  what  differ- 
ent lines  to  her  own,  her  sister's  life  had  been  cast, 


SEBASTIAN  207 

"But  although  only  by  an  hour,  I  am  older  than  you. 
Perhaps,  too,  I  have  seen  more  of  the  world." 

Stella  laughed.  She  could  not  help  it,  Vanessa 
thought  herself  the  more  worldly  of  the  two,  the  more 
experienced,  and  practical,  all  because  she  wrote  novels, 
and  invented  paradoxes.  But  Vanessa  ignored  the 
laugh,  and  went  on  earnestly. 

"It  seems  a  joke  to  you.  But  it  is  not  really  humor- 
ous. People  judge  from  what  they  see  on  the  surface ; 
and  it  struck  me  last  night  that,  that,  in  a  way,  he  was 
being  very  attentive  to  you.  And  his  being  there  at 
all " 

"He  is  on  the  council  of  the  orphanage." 

"Oh!  I  did  not  know  that.  But  anyway " 

she  grew  a  little  red,  and  went  on : 

"  I  know,  I  happen  to  know,  that  being  married  does 
not  make  so  much  difference  to  what  a  man  thinks  of  a 
woman." 

Stella  wondered  how  Vanessa  had  acquired  that 
strange  piece  of  information,  and  she  put  her  wonder 
into  an  exclamation. 

"  A  man  thinks  a  woman  can  be  a  companion  to  him. 
He  grows  to  like  talking  to  her,"  she  explained,  with 
some  embarrassment,  and  a  reserve,  new  between  her  and 
Stella.  "Even  I " 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  who  was  it  ?  " 

Vanessa  ignored  that.  It  was  not  of  herself  she  came 
to  speak.  She  could  not  put  Joe  Wallingford  quite  out 
of  her  mind,  but  David  was  reaping  the  benefit  in  a  new 
consideration,  and  Sebastian  in  a  remorseful  absorption. 
She  had  been  disloyal  to  both  of  them,  she  felt  her 


208  SEBASTIAN 

responsibilities  acutely,  surprised  and  ashamed  that 
anything,  except  literature,  should  have  come,  even 
momentarily,  between  her  and  them. 

"  No !  —  it  —  it  was  of  no  consequence.  Only  it 
taught  me  something  of  how  men  talk,  feel,  and  act  in 
given  circumstances,  almost  without  encouragement.  I 
felt  I  must  warn  you.  Lord  Saighton  was  Jack's  friend, 
and  of  course  he  has  that  in  his  mind.  Probably  so  have 
you;  but  there  comes  a  moment,  there  might  come  a 
moment,  when  either  of  you,  both  of  you  — "  she 
hesitated  again,  really  exciting  Stella's  curiosity. 

"This  is  quite  a  new  development.  You  want  to 
tell  me  that  there  might  come  a  moment  when  I  re- 
membered I  was  a  young  woman,  or  Saighton  reminded 
me  that  he  was  not  an  old  man.  And  then  ..."  All 
at  once  her  patience  broke : 

"  How  ridiculous  you  are !  Why  should  we  both  re- 
member? To  whom  are  we  in  thraldom?  Conven- 
tionality, Mrs.  Grundy,  you?  Or  do  you  think  I  owe 
Jack  anything?  " 

"You  have  never  spoken  to  me  like  this,  don't  do 
it,  Stella.  Of  course,  I  know  you  do  not  mean  it,  but 
surely  it  is  a  bad  habit  to  get  into.  You  know,  as  well 
as  I  do,  that  we  can  write  about  light  conduct,  and  read 
about  immorality,  more  or  less  gross.  But  we  cannot 
live  it;  you  nor  I." 

She  was  quite  hot  at  the  thoughts  that  arose. 

"The  word  morality  has  no  meaning  for  me,"  answered 
Stella,  almost  sullenly,  but  not  meeting  Vanessa's  eyes, 
busying  herself  with  the  orchids.  "Here,  leave  off 
preaching.  I'm  tired  of  it.  Saighton  and  I  are  very 


SEBASTIAN  209 

good  friends.  He  is  very  kind  to  me.  I  suppose  it  is 
because  of  Jack.  Talk  of  something  else,  I'm  sick  of  it." 

For  a  moment,  a  wild  moment,  she  had  thought 
Vanessa  knew,  or  guessed,  and  that  she  could  unburden 
her  over-burdened  mind.  For  a  wild  moment  she  felt 
the  relief,  the  wonderful  relief  it  would  have  been,  if  she 
might  have  spoken  of  what  her  life  had  been  these  last 
few  years.  What  had  filled,  and  emptied  it.  How 
well  she  knew  that  they,  neither  she  nor  Vanessa,  were 
of  the  type  that  could  live  happily  where  shame  lay 
ambushed.  But  she  and  happiness  had  parted  com- 
pany since  many  years.  Now  she  only  wanted  again 
that  Vanessa  should  not  divine  her  trouble.  Had  love 
come  into  her  sister's  life,  to  soil  it?  It  seemed  im- 
possible, Vanessa  was  as  nearly  as  possible  sexless. 
Marriage  with  such  a  man  as  David  Kendall  kept  her 
where  she  stood. 

"Who  has  been  making  love  to  you?"  she  asked, 
nevertheless.  "It  cannot  be  that  Wallingford  per- 
son ;  he  is  too  bourgeois  not  to  recognise  the  divinity 
of  your  household  gods.  It  must  have  been  some  one 
you  met  at  Hilda  de  Cliffe's,  some  one  she  asked  there  on 
purpose.  She  would  hate  to  know  a  dog  that  had  not 
lost  its  tail." 

"Why  do  you  call  Joe  Wallingford  bourgeois?" 
Vanessa  was  glad  to  change  the  subject.  She  had  said 
too  much,  or  too  little.  She  had  given  her  warning,  yet 
had  been  unable  to  word  her  sympathy. 

"So  it  is  Joe  Wallingford?  " 

"  I  am  disappointed  you  and  he  find  no  common 
ground." 


210  SEBASTIAN 

"My  dear !  Everything  about  him  is  common  ground, 
very  common  ground  !  " 

It  is  possible  both  sisters  were  glad  to  switch  the  talk 
into  a  different  channel.  Vanessa's  fears  had  been 
vague  and  formless.  Her  frankness  was  part  of  her 
character.  She  could  not  keep  back  what  had  been  in 
her  mind,  but  having  delivered  herself  of  it,  she  was  glad 
to  be  free  of  the  whole  subject. 

She  could  speak  of  Joe  Wallingford  warmly,  and 
without  reserve.  If  at  Newmarket  she  had  misled  him, 
or  he  had  misled  her,  it  had  been  merely  an  experience 
for  her,  she  told  herself,  something  literary,  removed 
from  life,  a  moment's  revelation.  She  liked  the  man,  he 
interested  her.  She  had  not  the  least  realised  how  much 
he  had  taught,  or  was  teaching  her,  she  had  no  interpre- 
tation of  the  message,  save  as  it  affected  Stella.  Va- 
nessa, knowing  so  little,  was  ashamed  of  what  she  knew. 
She  could  not  tell  Stella  more  than  she  had  told  her. 
Lord  Saighton  had  looked  at  Stella  as  Joe  Walling- 
ford had  once  looked  at  her.  But  it  had  been,  perhaps, 
unnecessary  to  warn  her.  The  sudden  fear  had  swift 
banishment. 

She  began  to  talk  easily  of  Joe,  and  of  his  powers  and 
prospects.  Stella  said : 

"  What  on  earth  does  it  matter  if  one  more  demagogue 
gets  into  a  House  hopelessly  vulgarised  by  Liberal  and 
Labour  members?  Who  cares?  And  anyway,  why 
are  you  bothering  about  it?  Let  us  talk  about  Sebas- 
tian. Joe  Wallingford  bores  me." 

And,  of  course,  Vanessa  was  always  willing,  even  eager, 
to  talk  of  Sebastian. 


SEBASTIAN  211 

There  was  something  to  talk  about.  If  Vanessa  had 
been  sure  of  Stella's  sympathy  she  would  have  told  her 
before. 

Sebastian  wanted  to  go  abroad.  Already  he  was 
restless  in  business.  But  there  was  reason  in  his  rest- 
lessness, Sebastian's  ability  was  no  figment  of  his 
mother's  brain.  He  was  working  loyally  with  his  father, 
but  he  could  see  so  many  things  that  escaped  the  routine- 
blinded  vision  of  the  older  man.  Young  as  he  was,  and 
ignorant,  he  saw  everywhere  new  machinery  of  trade, 
and  in  Queen  Victoria  Street,  old,  inoperative,  out-of- 
date  methods.  It  is  incredible,  but  nevertheless  true, 
that  John  and  William  Kendall  kept  their  own  books, 
wrote  their  own  letters,  and  prided  themselves  on  a 
traditional  secrecy  from  their  clerks  as  to  the  detail  and 
management  of  the  business;  also  on  the  smallness  of 
their  office  expenses.  Sebastian  had  already  intro- 
duced typewriting  machines,  and  shorthand  clerks,  a 
Dictophone,  an  installation  of  telephones,  an  adding-up 
machine,  and  everything  which  an  enterprising,  and 
specious,  firm  of  American  manufacturers  could  persuade 
him  was  essential  to  modern  enterprise. 

The  thousand  pounds  or  so,  he  spent  on  necessities, 
or  wasted  on  business  toys,  was  of  little  moment.  But 
having  procured  the  machinery  for  the  office,  human  and 
otherwise,  it  became  necessary  to  find  grist  to  keep  it 
working.  The  grist  was  new  accounts  ;  new  accounts 
meant  extended  credits.  David,  watching  Sebastian's 
growth  with  ever-quickening  pride,  toiling  after  him 
loyally,  found  himself  soon  apprehensive  of  where  the 
enterprise  would  land  them. 


212  SEBASTIAN 

A  few  months,  David  Kendall  had,  of  watching  and 
teaching  this  strange  young  duckling  that  took  so  freely 
to  the  water.  Then  he  began  to  fear  for  the  depths,  for 
the  treacherous  currents,  swooping  birds  of  prey,  sports- 
men with  reckless  guns.  And  fear  was  not  good  for 
David's  health. 

And  now  Sebastian  had  made  the  startling  announce- 
ment that  he  wanted  to  go  away  for  a  year  or  two ;  that 
he  was  not  going  on  making  and  selling  hand-made 
paper  when  fortunes  were  being  piled  up  on  all  sides  of 
them  by  distributers  of  cheap  grades  of  foreign  machin- 
ised  goods. 

He  argued,  and  Vanessa  repeated  these  convincing 
arguments  to  Stella. 

"He  says  that  we  would  have  been  willing  to  send 
him  to  the  'Varsity  to  waste  three  years  in  lounging  over 
the  Classics,  getting  a  degree  that  would  have  been  no 
earthly  use  to  P.  and  A.  Kendall,  even  if  it  had  been  a 
First.  He  says  he  wants  less  than  half  that  time  to 
educate  himself  in  the  paper  trade.  He  wants  to  go  to 
Denmark  and  Sweden,  and  then  over  to  America." 

Sebastian  had  begun  by  pleading,  gone  on  to  urge, 
ended  by  taking  it  for  granted  that  his  request  would  be 
met,  as  his  requests  had  ever  been  met.  All  this  Vanessa 
told  Stella. 

It  is  only  fair  to  Sebastian  to  say  he  had  completely 
forgotten  that  he  had  originally  decided  to  go  into 
business  because  he  had  learned  the  precariousness  of 
his  father's  health.  He  had  got  used  to  David's  indefi- 
nite delicacy.  Seeing  him  active  in  town  travelling,  and 
taking  his  bi-weekly  journey  to  the  mills  with  regularity, 


SEBASTIAN  213 

it  was  perhaps  natural  in  so  young  a  man  as  Sebastian, 
and  one  of  so  sanguine  a  disposition,  to  take  it  for  granted 
that  if  David  had  been  ill  he  was  cured,  and  that  all  he 
had  been  unhappy  about  was  the  continuance  of  the  firm 
of  P.  and  A.  Kendall  and  Co. 

And  now  Sebastian,  himself,  thought  that  was  suffi- 
cient career.  Only  he  saw  it  large,  the  megalomania  of 
youth  already  cast  an  extraordinary  glamour  over  the 
small  trade.  He  felt  he  must  have  it  all.  He  must 
supply  England  with  paper;  he  would  keep  the  hand- 
made as  a  nucleus,  but  already,  whilst  he  was  talking 
of  acting  as  agent,  of  buying  and  distributing,  he  was 
seeing  plant  and  machinery,  he  was  building  and  manu- 
facturing; great  castles  in  the  air  were  erecting  them- 
selves in  his  over-active  brain. 

"He  thinks  it  right  to  leave  us  for  a  time;  to  study 
foreign  markets,  to  learn  all  that  is  being  done." 

"But  you!  won't  you  miss  him  horribly?"  Stella 
asked,  forgetting  herself  and  her  troubles,  for  a  mo- 
ment, in  the  consideration  of  Vanessa's. 

But  to  sacrifice  themselves  for  Sebastian  came  natu- 
rally both  to  David  and  Vanessa.  So  that  although 
the  idea  of  losing  his  companionship  was  devastating 
to  David,  and  made  heartache  for  Vanessa,  it  had 
been  agreed  almost  without  argument.  When  the 
theatricals  were  over,  and  Twelfth  Night  out  of  the 
way,  Sebastian  would  go. 

David  knew  that,  in  a  way,  the  boy  was  right  in 
wishing  to  go  outside  their  own  business  to  learn  what 
was  being  done,  and  how  to  do  it.  The  very  fear  he 
had  of  everything  that  was  new  made  him  more  fear- 


214  SEBASTIAN 

ful  lest  he  err  in  checking  it.  He  could  think  of  the 
business  and  consider  if  it  would  suffer  more  by  Sebas- 
tian's absence  now,  than  it  would  benefit  by  his  return 
more  fully  armed.  He  could  think  of  Vanessa,  and 
realise  how  she  would  miss  the  daily  sight,  and  expec- 
tation, of  the  boy,  pity  her  that  she  should  be  con- 
demned to  a  long  spell  of  his  own  society;  he  could 
think  of  Sebastian,  dread  strangers,  home-sickness, 
temptation  for  him.  But  he  wasted  no  time  at  think- 
ing, though  it  loomed  heavy  and  dark  before  him,  of 
what  his  own  loneliness  would  be  now  he  had  almost 
forgotten  to  be  lonely. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHAT  passages  or  promises  there  had  been  between 
Sebastian,  not  yet  twenty,  and  Pleasey  Pleyden-Carr, 
some  two  or  three  years  his  senior,  was  never  quite 
clear. 

At  the  very  end,  when  they  were  already  at  South- 
ampton, steam  up,  and  the  boat  about  to  start,  the 
boy  said  something  to  his  mother,  which  at  the  mo- 
ment she  regarded  lightly.  They  were  walking  up  and 
down  on  the  quay;  she  had  come  to  see  him  off;  and 
David,  too,  was  here.  Everything  had  been  said,  and 
said  again.  Money,  clothes,  home  letters,  Sebastian's 
important  instructions  to  his  father  as  to  the  office 
work,  had  all  been  threshed  out.  David  was  on  board, 
counting  over  the  luggage.  It  was  for  a  whole  year 
they  were  parting  with  him;  he  had  never  before  been 
out  of  their  protecting  care.  And  all  their  hearts  were 
heavy. 

"Don't  make  it  worse  than  it  is,  mater.  You  don't 
suppose  I  like  it,  do  you?  But  I  know  it  has  to  be 
done.  I  must  keep  Kendall's  on  the  top;  I've  got  to 
learn  about  things;  I  want  to  make  money.  You'll 
neither  of  you  stand  in  my  way  when  I  get  back,  will 
you?  It  isn't  as  if  I  were  a  boy." 

"I  don't  think  we  have  stood  in  your  way,"  she 
answered.  "I  have  made  mistakes,"  she  was  thinking 

215 


216  SEBASTIAN 

of  Eton,  she  had  not  forgotten,  either,  how  she  had 
opposed  his  going  into  business,  "  but  it  is  difficult,  all 
at  once,  to  learn  to  be  a  mother.  You  have  a  profess- 
orship thrust  upon  you,  as  it  were,  before  you  are 
through  with  your  preliminary.  I  have  always  wanted 
to  do  the  best  for  you." 

"I  know,"  already  there  was  the  whistle,  and  David 
had  come  down  the  gangway,  and  was  making  for 
them:  "you've  been  a  good  sort,  never  a  better;  and 
the  pater,  too;  don't  think  I  don't  know  it.  But  — 
there  is  something  I  want  to  tell  you.  It  is  about 
Pleasey  Pleyden-Carr.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  hurt 
about  it;  it  won't  make  any  difference  between  you 
and  me,  she  hasn't  exactly  promised  anything,  but 
we  are  going  to  write  to  each  other.  She  is  going  to 
wait " 

Then  there  was  David,  out  of  breath,  and  nervous 
lest  Sebastian  should  miss  the  boat.  There  were  kisses, 
and  the  last  good-byes,  and  no  time  for  more  words  or 
confidences. 

Vanessa  heard,  later  on,  from  Stella,  that  there  had 
been,  apparently,  some  sort  of  love-making  between 
Sebastian  and  Bice's  governess.  But  neither  sister 
looked  upon  it  as  very  serious. 

Bice,  of  course,  was  passionately  loyal,  and  serious, 
and  secretive  over  it.  Everything  was  to  be  kept  a 
secret  until  Sebastian  came  back.  In  the  meantime 
Bice  was  to  be  their  best  friend.  She  knew  that  he 
meant  to  marry  Pleasey  when  business  was  on  the 
right  footing,  when  he  was  on  the  high  road  to  fortune. 
Pleasey  had  not  actually  promised  to  wait,  but  she 


SEBASTIAN  217 

would  write  to  him,  and  he  would  answer;  and  above 
all  things,  Bice  was  to  keep  him  fully  informed,  and 
well  supplied  with  news.  If  Pleasey  had  already  a 
second  string  to  her  bow,  neither  of  the  honest  cousins 
knew  it.  Her  amiability  and  pale  prettiness,  her  plain- 
tiveness  and  poverty,  had  captured  them  both. 

Sebastian  Rendall  remained  away  from  England  for 
rather  less  than  a  year.  Vanessa  filled  the  blank 
caused  by  his  absence,  by  completing  the  abandoned 
"Between  the  Nisi  and  the  Absolute,1'  Incidentally, 
too,  it  may  be  related  that,  when  published,  it  proved 
almost  a  complete  failure.  The  paradoxes  were  forced, 
laboured,  and  the  humanity  that  was  her  new  objec- 
tive, failed  of  vraisemblance.  The  fact  was  that  she 
was  learning  something  new,  but  she  did  not  yet  know 
enough  of  it  to  teach.  The  book  was  disjointed,  un- 
convincing, weak.  But,  whilst  it  absorbed  her,  Stella 
had  only  a  perfunctory  attention,  and  David  was  again 
neglected,  Joe  Wallingford  had  become  a  mere  model. 

That  was  all  he  had  done  for  her  in  the  first  year 
of  their  acquaintanceship.  He  had  confused  her  artistry, 
set  her  to  work  from  the  life.  She  had  endeavoured 
to  reproduce  him,  and  what  he  had  tried  to  convey  to 
her,  on  paper.  But,  not  fully  informed  of  what  she 
wrote,  she  wrote  badly.  Even  the  most  amiable  re- 
viewer could  not  say  she  had  increased  her  reputation 
by  the  publication  of  "Between  the  Nisi  and  the  Abso- 
lute." 

Meanwhile  Sebastian  was  studying  the  paper  trade, 
and  David  was  feeling  the  burden  of  running  an  old 
business  on  new  methods.  The  boy  visited  Sweden 


218  SEBASTIAN 

and  Norway  and  Denmark,  Switzerland  and  remote 
parts  of  Germany,  becoming  conversant  with  the  jargon 
of  his  subject,  with  cellulose,  and  half-stuff,  with  felting 
and  fibre,  with  esparto,  and  mechanical  woods. 

Then  he  had  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and  wrote  that 
he  found  himself  strangely  and  immediately  at  home. 
He  had,  indeed,  become  enamoured  of  New  York  be- 
fore he  landed,  inspired  by  the  talk  of  a  gentleman 
who  talked  enthusiastically  about  the  prohibition 
States,  and  showed  his  appreciation  by  drinking  deeply 
to  their  prosperity.  Sebastian  liked  the  bustle  of  it, 
and  its  utilitarian  ugliness.  The  breathless,  restless, 
business  atmosphere  suited  him;  the  men,  who  always 
had  time  to  tell  him  they  had  none  to  spare  attracted 
him ;  and  he  picked  up  Yankee  phrases,  and  an  accent- 
uated twang,  before  he  had  been  a  week  on  American 
soil. 

He  had  useful  introductions,  and  in  the  course  of 
four  to  six  months  he  visited  the  chief  paper-mills  in 
the  States.  At  Washington  he  found  the  trade  all 
agley  with  a  new  discovery,  the  manufacture  of  a  pulp, 
superior  to  that  produced  from  wood,  and  extraordi- 
narily cheaper,  from  cornstalks;  and  he  journeyed  to 
Culpepper,  where  the  experiments  were  being  made. 
In  an  access  of  enthusiasm  he  was  induced  to  give  a 
large  order,  which  incidentally,  it  may  be  noted,  seri- 
ously embarrassed  David,  and  the  Kendall  mills,  when, 
some  time  afterwards,  it  arrived  in  London. 

Outside  Culpepper  he  visited  a  big  truck  farm,  and 
familiarised  himself  with  American  petit  culture,  with- 
out bell  glasses,  but  nevertheless  profitable.  "Truck 


SEBASTIAN  219 

farm"  was  a  new  word  for  Sebastian.  He  found  it 
picturesque,  and  filled  up  half  a  letter  with  it. 

But  before  the  last  of  these  letters  arrived,  that  had 
happened  in  Harley  Street  which  made  Sebastian's 
return  imperative. 

Vanessa  cabled  as  considerately  as  the  circumstances 
permitted.  The  message  reached  him  when  he  was 
still  lingering  in  Washington. 

"Should  like  you  to  return  as  soon  as  possible,  Mater." 

Sebastian  showed  the  cable  to  the  man  who  had  put 
him  up  at  the  Metropolitan  Club. 

"They  can't  get  along  any  longer  without  me,  you 
see.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  were  my  last  letter 
that  has  made  them  keen.  The  pater  is  sharp  enough 
to  see  we  ought  to  have  something  in  this  new  Com- 
bine. I  guess,  too,  he  wants  to  talk  over  that  Stock 
proposition." 

But  even  before  he  had  finished  his  speech,  his  face 
grew  clouded. 

"It  is  such  rot  they  don't  say  what  I'm  wanted  for," 
he  went  on  more  slowly,  interrogatively. 

"Ay,"  said  John  P.  Tibenham,  who  had  put  through 
the  cornstalk  deal. 

John  P.  Tibenham's  expression  was  enigmatic. 

"Your  boss  keen  on  Combines?"   he  drawled  out. 

"You  don't  suppose  there  is  anything  wrong,  do 
you?"  said  the  boy. 

"No-o;  but  they  seem  in  a  mighty  hurry." 

Sebastian's  quickness  realised  what  was  in  the  other's 
mind. 

And  John  P.  went  on  to  speak  of  trains,  without 


220  SEBASTIAN 

going  into  the  question  of  what  the  summons  might 
mean.  Sebastian  did  not  argue  it. 

The  next  few  hours  passed  in  expediting  his  depar- 
ture, in  drinking  rye  whisky  with  men  who  wished 
him  good  luck,  in  a  dream  or  a  nightmare  of  good-byes. 

But  it  was  John  P.  who  sent  the  cable  to  Vanessa, 
in  order  that  the  answer  should  meet  the  boy  in  New 
York: 

"Starting  Mauretania  cable  necessity." 

Vanessa  found  it  difficult  to  answer.  She  did  not 
want  the  boy  to  have  his  long  week  at  sea  with  a  great 
grief  to  bear  him  company  on  the  voyage.  She  could 
not  tell  him  all  the  truth,  nor  withhold  it. 

Sebastian  had  the  long  railway  journey  in  which  to 
grow  more  and  more  anxious,  in  which  fear  knocked 
day  and  night  at  his  heart.  He  would  not  let  it  in, 
his  brain  worked  to  keep  it  out.  Aphorisms  haunted 
his  sleeplessness:  "III  news  travels  apace."  If  there 
was  ill  news,  he  would  have  known  it.  Besides,  the 
pater  was  all  right ;  every  letter  had  assured  him  of  it. 
Aunt  Stella  might  be  ill,  or  Uncle  William  worse.  He 
fixed  upon  Uncle  William  finally  and  definitely.  Of 
course  there  would  be  things  to  settle  up  if  Uncle  Will- 
iam were  to  die.  He  could  not  help  thinking  that  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  for  the  business  if  some  of  the 
capital  locked  up  in  Uncle  William  were  released.  No 
one  knew  the  contents  of  Uncle  William's  will;  it  was 
probable  that  the  pater  would  benefit  largely  by  it. 
It  had  been  made  many  years  ago:  John's  was  ten 
years  old.  Secretly  Sebastian  thought  John  might  have 
been  less  liberal  to  the  Paper  Trade  Benevolent  Fund, 


SEBASTIAN  221 

and  more  so  to  him.  But  then  John  had  not  expected 
to  die. 

Death  was  the  intruder  into  Sebastian's  thoughts 
during  all  that  tedious  journey  to  the  coast.  Vanessa's 
cable  drove  it  away,  but  only  for  a  time.  Sebastian 
could  not  stupefy  himself,  even  to  become  content. 

"Pater  seriously  ill." 

There  had  been  no  death.  But  the  pater  would 
never  have  so  cabled,  if  the  pater's  hand  or  brain  had 
been  free  to  write  or  dictate.  The  Pater,  Father,  the  Gov- 
ernor, Pupsy;  loving  words,  and  thoughts,  chased  with 
grey  death,  and  peopled  the  Mauretania  with  shadows. 

Sebastian  found  himself  starting  in  his  sleep  at  night, 
finding  his  pillow  wet.  Fear  had  knocked  and  knocked, 
and  now  found  full  admission.  Sleeping  and  waking, 
his  father's  face  was  before  his  eyes.  The  boat  made 
slow,  crawling  progress,  the  hours  hung,  and  the  hands 
of  the  clock  lagged.  Empty  chatter  went  on,  and  a 
monotonous  routine.  If  he  were  only  sure  he  would 
be  in  time !  There  was  no  longer  faltering  before  fear, 
he  was  enveloped  in  it ;  it  chilled  him,  froze  him,  over- 
whelmed him.  He  found  himself  recalling,  with  sudden 
anguish,  an  impatient  or  disrespectful  word;  he  had, 
ever  and  again,  an  overwhelming,  sickening  rush  of 
longing  for  one  more  chance,  another  look  at  that  dear 
face.  He  must  be  in  time;  he  could  not  bear  it  else. 
The  dear  pater,  how  generous  he  was,  how  unselfish ! 
He  must  see  him  again,  he  must  tell  him. 

Vanessa  was  on  the  dock  at  Liverpool.  She  had 
been  there  since  seven.  The  clinging,  cold  mist  of  the 
winter  morning  had  got  in  front  of  her  courage,  and 


222  SEBASTIAN 

dimmed  it  a  little.  She  was  not  in  weeds;  the  boy 
must  have  no  shock.  She  did  not  even  now  know 
what  she  would  shout  to  him  across  the  narrowing 
channel  of  water  that  so  slowly  closed  between  them. 
He  was  on  the  upper  deck;  she  had  her  glasses  with 
her  and  picked  him  out,  before  it  had  seemed  possible. 
Her  heart  went  out  to  him,  leapt  the  waters  and  was 
with  him. 

He  would  guess,  when  he  saw  her,  that  her  work  at 
home  was  done.  How  slowly  the  big  boat  moved; 
with  what  incredible  dilatoriness  they  swung  out  the 
stage  for  landing ! 

If  it  had  not  been  for  Joe  Wallingford,  there  'had 
been  an  hour  or  two  more  of  this  straining,  she  from 
the  shore,  and  Sebastian  from  the  upper  deck,  and  no 
words  between  them.  For  officers  of  health,  and  from 
the  office  of  the  steamship,  and  the  customs,  must  first 
go  on  board;  then  the  big  luggage  must  precede  the 
passengers.  But  Vanessa's  "pass"  overrode  all  these. 
The  officials,  at  foot  of  the  gangway,  could  not  under- 
stand it  when  it  was  first  shown  them. 

"Well,  all  the  years  I've  been  here,  I've  never  seen 
one  like  this,"  one  said  to  the  other,  showing  it.  But 
they  had  to  let  her  up,  reluctantly.  And  on  the  big 
boat,  too,  they  looked  at  it  with  surprise.  It  was  all 
right,  however,  apparently,  for  one  of  the  stewards 
was  called,  and  bidden  to  find  Mr.  Rendall. 

Sebastian  was  walking  the  upper  deck,  smoking 
overwhelmingly,  trying  to  be  patient.  He  had  not  ex- 
pected her  here.  He  had  informed  himself  of  the  pro- 
cedure, and  the  delay  in  landing. 


SEBASTIAN  223 

When  the  man  told  him  he  was  "  wanted  in  the 
cabin,"  his  mind  leapt  at  once  to  keys  and  customs, 
and  he  felt  in  his  pockets  as  he  descended  leisurely. 

His  face  flushed,  then  went  white,  when  he  saw  her. 

"Oh!  it's  you!"  and  his  voice  faltered  in  speaking. 
"How  is  he?"  But  he  knew;  he  knew  before  she 
answered. 

"I  took  the  first  boat,"  he  went  on,  dully. 

"  It  was  absolutely  sudden.  He  had  no  pain ;  he  was 
asleep." 

"He  had  not  asked  for  me?" 

"He  had  been  talking  about  you  the  evening  before. 
We  talked  about  you  every  evening." 

It  was  difficult  to  hold  back  his  anguish.  He  had 
feared,  but  hope  had  been  there  too.  He  had  only 
wanted  one  more  look,  a  last  word,  just  to  tell  him 
there  had  never  been  such  a  father;  and  that  he  knew 
it,  even  if  he  had  not  always  been  respectful,  or  shown 
what  he  felt. 

"It's  —  it's  damned  hard  lines/'  he  said,  and  burst 
into  tears. 

She  tried  to  comfort  him.  It  was  new  to  him,  but 
nearly  two  weeks  old  to  her.  And  here  was  Sebastian, 
taller,  more  manly  to  look  upon,  but  her  boy,  Sebas- 
tian, all  her  boys  in  one.  The  little  one  of  whose  future 
she  had  dreamed,  and  the  big  one  of  whom  she  had 
been  so  proud,  and  the  one  who  had  cast  in  his  lot 
with  his  father:  perhaps  she  had  become  proudest  of 
all  of  that  one.  And  now  the  one  who  was  here,  his 
head  in  her  lap,  her  hand  on  his  dear,  dark  hair.  She 
bent  and  kissed  it;  time  and  the  failure  of  her  book 
had  softened  her,  taught  her  a  few  tender  words. 


224  SEBASTIAN 

"It  is  worse  for  you/'  he  said,  when  he  had  a  little 
recovered  himself,  and  began  to  be  ashamed  of  his 
breakdown,  getting  up  from  his  knees.  "Poor  old 
mater!  You  must  have  had  an  awful  time.  I'll  hear 
all  about  it  presently.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  getting 
my  things  together.  How  did  you  manage  to  get  on 
board?" 

The  tears  started  again,  quite  naturally.  It  was 
wonderful  what  a  boy  he  was  still,  although  so  tall,  and 
travelled. 

"I  will  take  care  of  you.    We'll  stick  together." 

The  words  were  almost  irrelevant.  But  she  saw  that 
he  was  filled  with  tenderness  for  her,  picturing  her  deso- 
late, never  having  quite  known  how  it  had  been  between 
her  and  David. 

She  told  him  much  that  he  wanted  to  hear  on  their 
way  back  to  London.  By  mutual  consent  they  avoided 
sentiment,  and  confined  themselves  to  business.  She 
did  not  want  him  to  be  hurt  by  the  contents  of  his  father's 
will.  It  was  contained  in  three  lines,  he  had  left  every- 
thing he  possessed  to  "his  dear  wife."  She  was  his  sole 
trustee  and  executrix.  In  telling  Sebastian  of  it, 
presently,  she  said  that  he  and  she  were  one,  and  that 
his  father  knew  this,  and  that  their  interests  were  identi- 
cal. The  will  was  made  recently,  after  the  trouble  over 
John's  executors,  and  the  legal  questions  that  had  arisen. 

"He  wanted  to  avoid  taking  capital  from  the  business, 
or  investing  in  trust  stocks  for  you,  or  for  me.  He 
thought  it  over,  and  over  again;  it  worried  him  a  good 
deal.  In  the  end  he  said  he  knew  all  I  cared  for  was  you, 
and  that  I  would  not  hamper  you  in  anything."  She 


SEBASTIAN  225 

was  almost  apologetic,  but  Sebastian  took  it  from  a  lofty 
standpoint. 

"My  dear  mater,  the  money  is  a  mere  fleabite,  it 
doesn't  even  count.  The  pater  was  satisfied  with  a 
competence.  I  am  going  to  make  a  fortune.  Of  course, 
you  will  leave  all  the  capital  in  the  business,  and  we  shall 
probably  have  to  get  some  more  from  somewhere  or  other. 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  rebuild  the  mills,  to  have  at 
least  two  new  machines.  It  will  take  a  few  years,  but 
I'll  make  a  rich  woman  of  you.  I  have  learnt  a  lot  since 
I've  been  away;  we  are  asleep  over  here,  gone  to  seed, 
played  out.  I  am  going  to  make  things  hum." 

It  was  advisable  to  keep  him  on  the  business  note,  to 
lead  him  to  talk  of  what  he  had  seen  and  learnt.  He  had 
another  breakdown  on  getting  to  Harley  Street.  She 
found  him,  late  in  the  evening,  lying  on  the  bed,  face 
downward,  sobbing  his  heart  out. 

"He  was  so  good  to  me I  never  half  told 

him " 

It  was  strange  to  Vanessa  that  any  one  could  grieve 
so  for  David.  For  herself,  she  felt  as  if  her  chains  were 
struck  off.  No  sense  of  duty  unfulfilled  now  hung  about, 
and  depressed  her.  She  was  acutely  conscious  of  her 
new  freedom,  and  it  was  difficult  to  suppress  the  sense  of 
it  before  Sebastian. 

"  But  he  knew  what  a  good  son  you  had  always  been. 
He  said  so  often,  and  that  if  he  never  saw  you  again, 
I  was  to  tell  you." 

"Did  he  feel  ill?" 

"No.     But  it  seems  he  knew  his  life  was  precarious." 

She  sat  by  his  bedside  many  nights,  talking  to  him, 


226  SEBASTIAN 

of  his  father,  and  other  things.  He  made  her  leave  his 
door  open,  to  feel  the  sense  of  companionship  with  her, 
a  childish  trick.  He  could  not  bear  to  be  alone. 

Death  filled  the  house,  chilling  and  trying  his  nerve. 
Sebastian  had  been  nervous  as  a  child,  he  could  never 
bear  darkness,  nor  solitude.  All  his  childish  habits, 
reviving,  supplied  some  craving  in  her,  filled  some  place 
she  had  not  known  was  empty.  She  was  surprised  at  her 
happiness,  his  need  of  her.  And  love  grew.  He  had  the 
softer  heart  of  the  two;  in  some  few  ways  was  the 
weaker.  So  he  leant  upon  her,  and  she  gave  him  all  her 
strength,  and  was  very  happy  in  giving,  and  in  realising 
just  where  his  need  lay. 

He  was  young  for  the  burden  thrust  upon  him.  The 
old  business,  the  old  name,  John's  executorship,  and 
William's  trusteeship,  all  seemed  to  fall  at  once  into 
Sebastian's  hands.  That  was  a  burden  he  grew  quickly 
to  meet.  No  one  hearing  them  discussing  money  matters 
would  have  guessed  that  it  was  she,  and  not  he,  to 
whom  everything  belonged.  She  was  glad  he  felt  this, 
and  that  he  had  no  resentment  that  David's  will  had 
made  no  mention  of  him. 

Sebastian  decided  no  money  was  to  be  withdrawn  from 
the  business,  no  settlement  was  to  be  made  upon  her. 

"You  draw  a  jolly  good  income,"  he  said;  "I  suppose 
it  will  not  be  long  before  you  get  double  what  you  had  in 
the  pater's  time.  I  shall  not  want  much  for  myself, 
living  at  home  with  you.  I  will  take  £500  per  annum, 
and  you  can  have  the  rest,"  he  told  her,  magnanimously. 
And  they  vied  with  each  other  in  their  mutual  generosity. 

Apart  from  business,  invested  in  trust  stocks,  the 


SEBASTIAN  227 

money  David  had  left  would  hardly  give  her  £2000 
a  year.  But  in  business,  in  Sebastian's  able  hands, 
he  said  it  could  not  pay  her  less  than  20  per  cent. ;  it 
would  rise  to  100  per  cent. !  His  optimism  was  complete, 
his  faith  in  himself  unbounded. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT  is  extraordinary  how  little  difference  David's 
death  made  to  the  house  in  Harley  Street.  The  clean, 
sweet,  unselfish  life  dropped  out  of  it  as  if  it  had  never 
been.  Sebastian  soon  ceased  weeping  for  him.  David 
Kendall  left  an  influence,  hardly  a  memory,  he  had  never 
made  himself  felt  in  the  house .  Remorse  touched  Vanessa 
sometimes,  grief  never.  Sebastian  had  little  with  which 
to  reproach  himself,  but  his  father's  ways  had  irked  him 
sometimes.  David's  beautiful  unselfishness  had  tempted 
both  of  them  into  negligence.  It  was  many  years  before 
Vanessa  really  realised  the  character  of  the  man  by 
whose  side  she  had  lived  for  twenty  years.  He  passed 
silently  into  the  great  silence,  but  everywhere  his  feet 
had  trodden  was  the  better  for  his  passing.  His  secret 
charities,  his  fine  integrity,  his  loving  kindness  to  friends 
and  brothers,  wife  and  son,  became  gradually  clear,  and 
ever  clearer.  To  his  son,  who  had  dimly  divined  him, 
the  memory  of  him  became  as  a  holy  place  where  feet 
trod  softly. 

Sebastian  was  a  boy  when  he  left  England,  he  was  still 
a  boy  when  he  returned  to  it.  Bice  and  Pleasy  Pleydon- 
Carr  soon  consoled  him  for  the  loss  of  his  father.  He 
talked  largely  to  them  of  his  responsibilities,  of  the  burden 
of  his  mother's  interests,  of  the  reforms  he  had  effected, 
or  would  effect  in  the  firm. 

228 


SEBASTIAN  229 

Almost  immediately  after  his  return  home  he  started 
putting  into  execution  some  of  his  plans  for  the  extension 
of  the  business.  He  was  really  a  young  man  of  great 
parts,  the  future  proved,  or  is  proving  it,  it  was  his  mis- 
fortune that  he  had  to  control  capital  and  expenditure 
before  he  had  learnt  their  relations. 

In  the  meantime  there  were  new  agencies,  and  travel- 
lers to  push  them,  the  enlargement  of  the  mills,  and  the 
acquisition  of  new  machinery.  P.  and  A.  Kendall  had 
quietly,  almost  privately,  disposed  of  their  own  hand- 
made paper  for  four  generations.  Young  Rendall,  as  he 
was  called,  began  to  compete  in  other  branches,  in  all 
branches.  He  would  be  a  paper-maker,  and  an  agent 
representing  foreign  'mills,  he  announced  himself  as  a 
"wholesale  stationer"  and  would  have  accepted  printing, 
or  any  other  contract  that  was  offered  to  him ;  going  out 
of  his  way  to  look  for  illegitimate  business.  There  was 
resentment,  indignation  in  the  trade.  For  the  firm 
had  held  a  unique  place,  and  there  was  much  shaking  of 
heads,  and  prophecies  of  disaster.  But  above  all 
things  there  was  what  Sebastian  most  enjoyed.  There 
was  talk  about  him;  the  City  discussed  him,  and  his 
plans. 

The  boy's  vanity  was  excited  by  his  competitors, 
by  the  old  men  who  came  in  to  tell  him  of  the  old  tradi- 
tions, and  seriously  to  urge  him  to  walk  in  the  same  path 
as  his  grandfather  and  father,  his  uncles  and  great-uncles ; 
by  young  and  middle-aged  men,  who  explained  to  him 
how  inexperienced  he  was,  or  he  would  not  have  done  this 
or  that,  directing  his  attention  to  business  etiquette.  It 
was  pure  enjoyment  to  him  to  spread  out  in  the  places  he 


230  SEBASTIAN 

was  told  were  barred  to  him.  He  had  little  or  no  ex- 
perience, that  was  perfectly  true,  but  he  had  an  extra- 
ordinary energy,  a  vanity  and  faith  in  himself  that  were 
alike  unbounded. 

There  had  been,  at  the  very  beginning,  some  necessary 
talk  with  his  mother  about  income  and  expenditure. 
She  quite  saw  that  all  the  money  David  left  should  re- 
main in  the  business,  and  that  Sebastian  should  have 
the  full  use  of  it  and  full  authority.  He  told  her  candidly 
it  was  not  her  subject,  and  she  agreed  with  him.  She 
was  quite  content  to  leave  herself  and  her  income  in  his 
hands. 

Everything  Sebastian  did,  he  did,  in  a  sense,  dramati- 
cally. He  told  Vanessa  if  she  had  every  necessity 
during  his  father's  lifetime,  she  would  have  more  than 
that,  she  would  have  luxuries,  and  great  wealth,  soon 
after  he  had  gathered  the  reins  properly  in  his  own  hands, 
and  was  driving  full  speed.  In  the  meantime  he  arranged 
that  she  should  draw  £4000  per  annum,  and  he  should 
take  £500. 

Money  had  never  interested  Vanessa,  she  had  all  she 
wanted  materially,  rather  more,  from  David,  and  her  own 
income,  earned  and  inherited,  went  in  bibelots.  She 
had  no  extravagances  such  as  perplex  smaller  women  in 
their  daily  life.  She  did  not  gamble,  nor  dress  beyond 
her  station,  she  had  a  horror  of  debt,  and  paid  her  bills 
when  they  came  in.  She  was  generous,  but  that  was  a 
luxury  she  could  afford.  Her  quarter's  allowance 
covered  the  quarter's  expenses,  the  rest  was  for  those 
who  needed  it. 

But  Sebastian  made  money,  or,  rather,  the  acquisition 


SEBASTIAN  231 

of  it,  the  topic  at  breakfast  and  the  topic  at  dinner, 
and  through  evenings  that  at  last  grew  wearisome  on  the 
one  note.  It  seemed  sordid  to  her,  and  a  little  vulgar. 
Had  it  been  any  one  but  Sebastian  who  held  forth  in  such 
a  manner,  she  would  have  checked,  and  resented  it.  As  it 
was,  she  tried  to  meet  his  views  by  putting  the  household 
on  a  more  lavish  scale.  David  never  quite  accustomed 
himself  to  extravagant  expenditure,  either  in  the  City, 
or  in  his  private  life ;  he  had  frugal  tastes  and  inherited 
instincts.  In  Queen  Victoria  Street,  and  at  home, 
expenses  grew  at  a  proportionate  rate. 

There  was  no  display,  neither  Sebastian  nor  Vanessa 
had  to  buy  society.  In  truth  they  neither  of  them  cared 
for  ordinary  social  functions.  Their  individualities  were 
too  strong.  They  had  to  be  the  guests,  or  found  them- 
selves bored.  As  host,  too,  although  Vanessa  never 
acknowledged  it  even  to  herself,  the  boy  was  scarcely 
an  improvement  on  his  father.  It  was  the  right  and 
proper  thing,  sometimes  even  it  was  an  interesting  thing, 
to  hear  Sebastian,  when  alone  with  her  of  an  evening, 
relate  all  the  details  and  embroglio  of  the  paper  trade. 
He  told  her  of  the  new  "Association  of  Wholesale 
Stationers"  that  he  boasted  was  as  a  Trust,  or  Combine 
against  him  personally,  and  he  schemed  how  he  should 
meet  it.  But  it  was  quite  another  matter  when  she 
entertained  her  friends,  and  he  dashed,  relentlessly, 
into  congenial  talk  of  Fabianism,  or  Free  Trade, 
with  irrelevant  personal  information  as  to  how  he  was 
pushing  P.  and  A.  Kendall!  It  was  always  the  "paper 
trade"  with  Sebastian;  she  grew  bored  with  the  very 
name  of  P.  and  A.  Kendall,  but  disguised  it,  for  its  ex- 


232  SEBASTIAN 

ponent  was  very  dear  to  her,  although  now  he  satisfied 
her  critical  taste  so  much  less  fully  than  she  had  hoped. 
She  even  detected  a  gradual  alteration  in  his  speech,  a 
shade,  or  intonation  that  vexed  her  ear.  She  forced  her- 
self from  this  mentally  critical  attitude,  surely  she  loved 
him,  and  Stella  ?  For  all  her  self-communings  and  analy- 
sis, she  could  never  quite  persuade  herself  she  had  any 
capacity  of  great  affection  outside  these  two. 

Joe  Wallingford  had  lost  no  time  after  David's  death 
in  asking  her  to  share  his  millions.  With  a  man  like  Joe, 
having  a  shrewd  idea  of  the  terms  on  which  Vanessa 
lived  with  her  husband,  there  was  no  need  for  delicacy, 
or  restraint,  in  putting  forward  his  suit. 

He  had  written  to  her,  even  before  Sebastian  returned 
from  America.  She  answered,  quite  candidly  and  un- 
reservedly, that  married  life  had  no  lure  for  her,  she  was 
glad  of  her  freedom,  and  meant  to  retain  it;  Sebastian 
and  Stella  were  sufficient  ties.  She  told  him  again  that 
she  was  primarily  an  authoress,  and  because  her  last 
book  had  been  badly  received  she  was  keener  than  ever 
about  the  next.  The  correspondence  between  them 
began  before  David  had  been  dead  a  month.  Joe  was 
not  dissatisfied  with  the  progress  he  was  making.  He 
never  deceived  himself  into  thinking  she  would  be  easy 
to  woo. 

After  Sebastian's  return,  Joe  came  again  to  Harley 
Street.  She  had  refused  to  marry  him,  but  she  was  glad 
of  his  proffered  friendship,  she  valued  it,  too,  for  the  boy. 

Joe  Wallingford  was  the  one  habitue  of  the  house,  which 
had  so  soon  resumed  its  normal  aspect  and  hospitality, 
before  whom  the  boy's  talk  never  appeared  intrusive  or 


SEBASTIAN  233 

banal.  It  might  be  egotistic,  but  it  was  not  any  longer 
incongruous.  The  rest  of  the  circle  were  cultivated,  or 
literary,  people.  Sebastian  found  no  interest  at  the 
moment  save  in  himself  or  his  work.  Thus  it  came  about 
that  to  both  mother  and  son,  Joe  was  their  most  wel- 
come visitor. 

"He  is  getting  on  all  right?"  Joe  asked  her  one  even- 
ing, some  eight  or  nine  months  after  David's  death. 
"He  seems  to  take  a  great  interest  in  the  business. 
You  don't  think  he  is  going  a  bit  too  fast?" 

"Oh,  no,  everything  is  very  flourishing." 

She  laughed. 

"He  tells  me  I  am  to  buy  as  much  china  as  I  want, 
he  begs  me  to  deny  myself  nothing.  He  is  such  a  good 
son,  he  wants  me  not  to  miss  David's  generosity.  But 
really,  David  never  encouraged  me  to  spend  as  Sebastian 
does.  I  am  quite  ashamed  sometimes  of  the  amount  I 
draw.  But  he  says  there  is  no  reason  to  save." 

"You  have  left  all  your  money  in  the  business?" 
Joe  asked,  with  apparent  carelessness.  He  had  a  lurking 
doubt  or  two,  but  was  content  with  the  position,  honest 
nevertheless.  "It  is  a  great  responsibility  for  so  young 
a  man,  without  much  experience." 

"He  learnt  a  great  deal  whilst  he  was  away.  He 
is  really  not  to  be  judged  by  any  standard  that  applies 
to  ordinary  young  men,"  she  answered,  easily. 

Once  or  twice,  on  other  occasions,  Joe  tried  to  convey 
to  her  his  sense  that  Sebastian  was  playing  a  big  game 
before  he  had  learnt  the  rules.  But  she  was  deaf,  or 
careless,  to  any  hint.  And,  after  all,  Joe  had  nothing 
to  gain  by  forcing  that  view  upon  her. 


234  SEBASTIAN 

Vanessa  could  not  feel  anxiety  or  uneasiness  about  the 
present,  or  the  future,  of  Messrs.  P.  and  A.  Kendall; 
she  was  only  rather  bored  by  it.  But  she  could  grow 
anxious  or  worried  about  other  matters  in  connection 
with  the  boy,  and  her  ever-deepening  sense  of  responsi- 
bility toward  him  took  on  a  new  complexion  about  this 
time. 

Miss  Pleasey  Pleyden-Carr  was  the  fons  et  origo  mali 
of  the  change. 

Pleasey,  with  a  second  string  to  her  bow,  intriguing 
behind  Bice's  back,  looking  upon  Sebastian  as  a  boy, 
but  a  boy  who  might  one  day  be  rich,  played  him  with 
more  cleverness  than  one  could  have  credited  to  her. 
Sebastian  was  encouraged  one  moment,  and  held  at  arm's 
length  the  next.  He  found  it  difficult  to  get  at  close 
quarters  with  his  lady  love.  She  would  not  hear  of  an 
engagement,  she  was  not  sure  if  she  cared  for  him  enough  ! 
She  was  coy,  and  sometimes  amenable,  but  she  was  never 
definite.  She  came  between  him  and  his  business, 
distracting  his  mind,  but  entertaining  his  evenings,  and 
many  of  his  Sundays. 

The  room  behind  the  dining-room  in  Weymouth 
Street  belonged  still  to  the  young  people.  No  one 
interfered  if  Bice  chose  to  leave  it  to  Sebastian  and 
Pleasey,  to  curl  herself  up  with  a  novel  in  the  dining-room, 
and  let  them  be  undisturbed.  That  a  certain  amount 
of  love-making  went  on  is  indubitable;  Bice  was  an 
accessory  before  the  act,  as  the  legal  phrasing  runs. 
Bice  knew  nothing  of  Bob  Hayling.  Pleasey  had 
leisure  and  many  opportunities,  whilst  Bice  attended 
classes  at  Queen's  College,  performed  a  limited  number 


SEBASTIAN  235 

of  social  duties,  filled  her  mother's  unoccupied  hours, 
playing  the  part  of  the  only  daughter  of  the  house. 
She  was  loyal  to  Sebastian.  She  was  as  limited  as  her 
Aunt  Vanessa  in  her  affections,  her  delicate  mother, 
and  Sebastian,  absorbed  them  all.  Pleasey  shone  with 
a  reflected  glory.  Bice  knew  nothing  of  Bob  Hayling, 
of  the  second  string  to  Pleasey's  bow. 

Then  came  a  day  when  Pleasey  discovered  that  she 
was  not  "doing  right"  in  encouraging  Sebastian's  at- 
tentions, when  she  began  to  avoid  tete-a-tetes,  and  make 
a  display  of  prudery.  The  thing  grew.  She  said  she 
was  too  old  for  him,  she  resorted  to  tears,  and  repented 
she  should  ever  have  allowed  him  to  kiss  her.  The 
episode  ended  by  her  seeking  an  interview  with  Stella,  and 
tendering  a  month's  notice.  She  was  agitated,  and  trem- 
ulous, and  vaguely  candid.  She  told  Stella  all  about 
Sebastian's  love-making.  She  said  she  thought  she  had 
better  go  home  to  her  father  and  mother.  They  were 
so  anxious  about  it,  they  were  so  particular. 

"I  shouldn't  worry  about  it,"  Stella  told  her,  sooth- 
ingly. "He  is  only  a  boy,  he  is  not  twenty-one  yet. 
You  are  three  or  four  years  older  than  he  — 

"Two,"  interposed  Pleasey,  mendaciously.  "Well! 
hardly  more  than  eighteen  months.  My  birthday  is  in 
May,"  she  added,  thinking  she  had  perhaps  gone  too  far 
on  the  road  to  veracity. 

"What  is  the  harm  of  his  making  love  to  you?  He 
has  always  done  it,  more  or  less,  hasn't  he?"  Stella 
went  on,  carelessly.  She  thought  Miss  Pleyden-Carr  was 
making  too  much  of  the  circumstance. 

"It  —  it  isn't  only  his  making  love  to  me."     Pleasey 


236  SEBASTIAN 

became  indefinitely  confidential.  Stella  had  always 
liked  her  for  her  prettiness,  and  tact,  for  her  gift  of  put- 
ting her  clothes  on  well,  and  keeping  Bice  content. 
Stella  thought  things  had  better  go  on  as  they  were, 
it  would  keep  Sebastian  out  of  mischief.  Stella  had  a 
very  definite  notion  of  how  much  mischief  a  boy  could 
get  into,  if  he  set  his  mind  to  it. 

Pleasey  suddenly  confessed  that  he  wanted  her  to 
promise  to  marry  him  ! 

Stella  laughed. 

"But  surely  you  are  not  bound  to  do  it  because  he 
asks  you !  And  you  have  always  Bice  with  you.  Don't 
make  a  fuss,  there's  a  good  girl.  I  have  not  time  to 
get  any  one  else  to  be  with  Bice.  What  is  the  good  of 
bothering?  All  young  men  fall  in  love  with  women 
older  than  themselves.  But  they  get  over  it,  you  need 
not  give  him  any  great  encouragement,  very  little  will 
satisfy  him,  and  he  is  sure  to  eventually  like  some 
one  else  even  better.  Boys  are  not  very  constant;  you 
have  nothing  to  fear  from  him,  the  'young  Lochinvar' 
days  are  out  of  fashion." 

Pleasey  omitted  to  state  how  much  encouragement 
she  had  already  administered.  She  played  her  game 
very  well  indeed,  and  eventually  converted  Stella  from 
an  active,  to  a  passive,  opponent  of  her  going  home  for 
a  few  months. 

"I  cannot  be  here,  and  not  see  him.  I  do  not  want 
to  deprive  Bice  of  his  companionship.  I  really  think 

I  ought  to  go,  you  don't  know  how  impetuous  he  is 

Pleasey  could  even  blush  to  command. 

It  was  agreed  she  should  rejoin  her  family  circle  for 


SEBASTIAN  237 

six  months.  Stella  gave  her  a  handsome  present.  Lord 
Saighton  sent  her  father  an  additional  cheque.  He  and 
Stella  agreed  she  had  behaved  extremely  well. 

"It  won't  do  to  have  that  young  fellow  hanging  about 
her  here;  it  is  not  good  for  Bice,  nor  for  any  of  them," 
Saighton  said,  authoritatively. 

Stella,  who  was  only  reticent  about  her  own  affairs, 
could  not  resist  sharing  Pleasey's  confidences  with 
Vanessa. 

"Your  Bayard  has  been  making  love  to  Bice's  com- 
panion," was  the  way  she  started  the  conversation,  the 
very  afternoon  that  it  had  been  decided  Pleasey  should 
go  home  with  her  cheques. 

"That  is  an  old  story,  is  it  not?"  Vanessa  answered, 
indifferently.  "I  thought  I  heard  something  about  it 
before  he  went  abroad.  Has  it  begun  again?" 

"Begun  again !  It  appears  it  never  left  off;  they  cor- 
responded all  the  time." 

"He  never  speaks  of  her  to  me." 

"That  is  a  bad  sign." 

"It  is  a  sign  he  does  not  deem  the  affair  important." 

Vanessa  could  not  be  uneasy.  Sebastian  was  still 
exceptional  and  significant  to  her.  Ambrose  Pleyden- 
Carr's  daughter  seemed  an  emasculate  young  person, 
quite  unworthy  of  serious  consideration  in  such  a  con- 
nection. 

Stella  did  not  like  her  news  accepted  so  indifferently. 

"You  may  say  it  is  unimportant,  but  Sebastian  is 
madly  in  love  with  her." 

"Calf  love!"  said  Vanessa,  looking  again  at  Stella's 
array  of  orchids.  "I  should  not  dream  of  interfering 


238  SEBASTIAN 

with  him,  nor  forcing  his  confidence.  She  is  a  feeble 
young  person  with  a  habit  of  saying,  '  Oh !  really  ! '  She 
varies  it  sometimes  with,  'Fancy  that!'  Unless  you 
mind  them  meeting  here,  I  do  not  see  any  harm  in  it. 
She  will  soon  tire  him.  I  find  five  minutes  of  her  vague 
insincerity  quite  enough  for  me;  so  will  he,  presently." 

"You  under-rate  her.  She  has  a  lovely  figure,  puts 
on  her  clothes  like  a  Parisian,  and  has  at  least  a  yard  and 
a  half  of  fair  hair." 

"She  is  an  albino,  mentally  and  morally  anaemic.  I 
have  only  seen  her  a  few  times,  but  I  am  sure  she  is  not 
going  to  be  seriously  dangerous.  Besides,  Sebastian  is 
absorbed  in  business.  Really,  Stella,  this  is  a  hare  you 
have  started." 

"I  have  not  started  it." 

"Or  are  pursuing.    The  boy  is  serious-minded." 

"Pleasey  told  me,  herself." 

"She  is  at  an  age  when  she  must  invent  adventures 
if  she  fail  in  encountering  them." 

"Well,  don't  say  you  have  not  been  warned." 

"In  another  five  years  I  may  begin  to  take  Sebastian's 
love  affairs  seriously.  You  don't  understand  him." 

Stella  laughed. 

"He  is  not  very  difficult." 

"He  is  fonder  of  his  cousin  than  of  her  companion. 
He  has  really  a  very  fine  appreciation  of  Bice.  He 
was  only  saying  the  other  day  - 

There  was  no  use  urging  the  matter  any  further. 
Vanessa  was  determined  not  to  see,  and  after  all,  no 
harm  had  been  done.  Pleasey  indulged  herself  in  a  last 
scene  with  the  boy  before  returning  to  that  shabby  home 


SEBASTIAN  239 

in  Wimbledon,  and  the  easy  rendez-vous  with  Bob  Hay- 
ling.  She  contrived  to  put  Sebastian  completely  in  the 
wrong.  He  had  certain  privileges,  and  it  appeared  he  had 
exceeded  them.  He  thought  he  was  engaged,  whereas 
it  transpired  he  had  only  been  on  probation.  Cer- 
tainly an  early  marriage  had  not  been  in  his  mind.  He 
must  wait  until  affairs  were  on  a  more  settled  basis  in 
Queen  Victoria  Street.  But  he  wanted  the  privileges  of 
a  lover.  At  a  hint  that  she  was  going  away,  that  he 
would  not  see  her  again  for  some  months,  his  ardour 
broke  through  some  new  bonds  that  she  had  imposed  on 
herself,  or  him.  She  resented  it  most  plaintively,  and 
distracted  him  beyond  words.  What  he  had  done  he 
never  quite  knew.  But  it  was  all  over,  his  love  rejected, 
his  pride  hurt,  his  intelligence  bewildered.  Whatever 
was  between  them  was  at  an  end.  He  had  misunder- 
stood her,  apparently,  from  the  very  beginning. 

"She  has  done  with  me,"  he  told  Bice. 

And  for  the  moment  she  meant  it.  He  was  only  a 
boy,  dependent  on  his  mother.  Pleasey  knew  all  about 
the  will.  Mr.  Robert  Hayling  had  a  motor-car,  and  a 
pretty  lavish  way  of  ordering  luncheons  and  dinners. 
She  had  been  meeting  him  now  and  again  for  over  a  year, 
but  their  opportunities  had  been  limited.  It  was  he  who 
had  suggested  that  she  should  give  up  her  situation,  and 
go  home.  He  must  mean  something  by  it,  and  she 
wanted  to  find  out  exactly  what  he  meant.  Sometimes 
she  fancied  herself  in  love  with  Bob  Hayling.  He  was 
really  a  fine  man,  somewhere  about  forty,  with  expressive 
eyes,  his  hair  grey  on  the  temples,  his  manner  with 
women  extraordinarily  confident.  One  could  get  a  thrill 


240  SEBASTIAN 

out  of  a  man  like  that.    There  was  no  thrill  to  be  had 
from  Sebastian  Kendall's  boyish  passion  for  her. 

But  she  had  prevision,  she  kept  her  retreat  open, 
parting  from  Bice  with  tears  and  promises  of  constant 
visits,  dismissing  Sebastian  with  a  vague  promise  of 
future  friendship,  impressing  even  the  amused  Stella 
with  the  belief  that  she  was  really  acting  from  conscien- 
tious motives. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

VANESSA,  when  she  heard  that  Miss  Pleyden-Carr 
had  left  the  Ashtons,  only  observed  that  she  thought 
it  was  "a  very  good  thing."  She  did  not  immediately 
ascribe  the  change  in  Sebastian's  habits  to  Pleasey's 
absence  from  Weymouth  Street.  She  was  ever  a  writer 
of  romance,  rather  than  an  interpreter  of  human  motives 
and  actions. 

Business  became  now  Sebastian's  only  objective. 
Pleasey  Pleyden-Carr  may  have  obscured  his  outlook, 
but  such  as  she  could  not  definitely  affect  the  mainspring 
of  his  character.  He  told  his  mother,  about  this  time, 
that  "things  were  beginning  to  move."  In  truth,  Se- 
bastian was  reaping  the  benefit  of  the  name  that  had  been 
built  up,  and  the  principles  with  which  his  father  had 
imbued  him.  Competitors  resented  him,  but  new  clients 
liked  the  long  credits,  and  the  reliable  quality.  And 
when  they  came  in  contact  with  him,  they  liked  the  eager 
youngster,  who  was  really  a  good  salesman,  and  keen  to 
do  business  against  his  rivals,  at  almost  any  price  that 
offered.  He  talked  very  freely  about  "turnover,"  he 
took  the  world  into  his  confidence.  He  felt  he  had  had 
a  good  day  when  he  had  made  a  big  contract,  even  if  he 
had  accepted  it  at  a  loss,  or  if  he  had  sold  old  stock  at 
or  under  cost,  without  taking  into  consideration  that  it 
had  been  accumulating  interest. 

R  241 


242  SEBASTIAN 

The  defection  of  Pleasey  but  accelerated  the  activity 
at  the  mills  and  in  Queen  Victoria  Street.  Incidentally 
perhaps  she  necessitated  it.  The  business  was  widening 
and  extending,  the  purely  clerical  work  growing  heavier 
and  heavier;  humming  and  buzzing  filled  the  office, 
no  trace  was  left  of  the  prosperous,  leisurely  quietude 
that  had  reigned  there  in  the  time  of  Sebastian's  father 
and  uncles.  The  business,  the  capital,  the  income,  were 
all  in  the  boy's  young  hands.  He  had  none  to  interfere 
with  nor  hamper  him,  and  he  could  start  one  large 
scheme  after  another  without  old-fashioned  caution 
cramping  or  paralysing  his  action.  The  very  word 
"overtrading"  was  outside  his  commercial  dictionary, 
it  had  been  a  figment  of  his  father's  brain,  part  of  his 
illness.  Sebastian  felt  the  necessity  for  enlarging  the 
mills,  importing  more  machinery,  trying  every  new  pulp, 
and  combination  of  pulps,  putting  a  hundred  eggs  in  a 
hundred  baskets,  relying  on  his  brain  to  market  them  all 
safely,  counting  cost  neither  of  baskets  nor  eggs.  Re- 
action from  the  disappointment  over  Pleasey  took  the 
immediate  first  form  of  an  added  vanity  in  his  City 
success,  or  that  which  looked  so  like  success,  on  the 
surface. 

"You  don't  meet  men  of  my  calibre  in  the  City," 
he  told  his  mother,  quite  simply. 

"I  shall  sweep  the  board,  they  don't  understand  a 
business  policy  over  here,  it  is  all  just  buying  and  selling 
with  them.  I  am  going  for  monopolies.  When  I  have 
put  everything  in  order  at  the  mills,  I  shall  have  a  go 
at  the  wall  paper  trust;  we  are  making  long  elephant 
already  !  I  am  getting  it  out  at  a  wonderful  price,  with 


SEBASTIAN  243 

that  new  machine  of  mine.  They  don't  like  it  at  Green- 
hithe,  I  can  tell  you  that.  J.  D.  Rockefeller  cornered  oil 
when  he  had  more  against  him  than  I  have." 

He  still  talked  continuously  of  the  one  subject.  He 
did  not  want  to  discuss  anything  else.  He  made  no  con- 
fidences about  his  love  affair,  and  Vanessa  did  not  press 
for  them.  Even  Bice's  sympathy  had  to  remain  word- 
less. She  was  furious  with  Pleasey's  betrayal.  But  the 
boy's  sensitiveness  covered  itself  with  P.  and  A.  Kendall, 
as  with  a  garment. 

There  were  difficulties  ahead,  and  these,  too,  he 
doubled,  for  distraction. 

"I  am  plunging  a  bit,"  he  admitted  to  Vanessa,  "you 
don't  mind  a  fair  trading  risk,  do  you,  mater?" 

She  had  very  little  idea  what  was  a  fair,  or  unfair, 
trading  risk;  she  was  satisfied,  without  being  curious, 
so  long  as  the  boy  was  content  in  what  seemed  to  her, 
nevertheless,  very  uncongenial  work.  Joe  Wallingford's 
warning  had  reached  no  further  than  her  external  ear. 
She  had  resented  the  failure  of  her  last  book  more  than 
she  admitted,  even  to  herself.  She  was  laying  down 
the  foundations  of  another.  Perhaps  that  was  why 
she  was  slow  in  associating  Pleasey's  defection  with  a 
certain  development  in  Sebastian's  conduct. 

Sebastian's  subsequent  few  months  had  many  excuses. 
His  father's  death,  Pleasey's  unreasonable  dismissal, 
chilled  for  the  moment  what  was  warmest  and  best  in 
him.  The  sentient  parts,  that  remained  unaffected, 
were  occupied  entirely  in  mundane  things.  He  saw 
City  men,  and  heard  the  talk  of  City  men,  at  luncheons, 
in  private  offices,  in  interchange  of  "drinks"  at  the  con- 


244  SEBASTIAN 

elusion  of  a  bargain.  And  often  it  was  coarse  talk  and 
anecdote  he  heard. 

Years  of  compulsory  football  at  school  had  given  him 
a  distaste  for  all  forms  of  exercise,  so  there  was  no  outlet 
there.  Both  the  spiritual  side  of  him,  for  the  boy  had 
ideals  and  a  spiritual  side,  and  the  intellectual  side  of 
him,  and  that  too  is  undeniable,  suffered  temporary 
eclipse.  Materialism  was  what  he  had  brought  back 
from  America,  not  dogma  perhaps,  but  a  careless  accept- 
ance. There  was  no  real  viciousness,  but  some  curiosity, 
and  an  absence  of  creed.  Quite  deep  down,  unconfessed, 
the  ever-aching  wound  of  Pleasey's  rejection  affected 
his  moral  health. 

By  the  time  a  new  book  was  planned,  and  Vanessa 
fully  awakened,  she  discovered  that  Sebastian  was  no 
longer  content  to  spend  his  evenings  alone  with  her  in 
the  drawing-room.  He  had  found  that  "life"  was  part 
of  the  equipment  of  a  business  man,  and  had  decided 
upon  penetrating  its  mysteries. 

Reticence  was  no  part  of  the  scheme,  quite  the  con- 
trary. After  all,  "the  mater  is  a  woman  of  the  world," 
he  argued,  and  "a  novelist."  The  new  side  of  life  he 
was  learning  was  bound  to  interest  her. 

He  talked  about  it  at  brekafast,  and  through  dinner. 
It  is  far  more  difficult  to  lead  a  fast  life  in  London  than 
it  is  in  Paris,  or  Vienna,  in  Buda  Pesth,  or  Simla,  for  in- 
stance, but  it  is  not  impossible.  Sebastian's  curiosity  was 
gratified  long  before  he  became  in  any  way  entangled, 
or  individually  held,  by  what  he  saw  and  learnt. 

Vanessa's  instinctive  purity  shrank  from  what  Se- 
bastian told  her,  but  she  thought  it  was  right  that  she 


SEBASTIAN  245 

should  listen.  The  unhappiness  that  lurks  in  wait  for 
all  loving  mothers  of  adolescent  sons  sprang  upon  her 
presently,  fastening  claws  of  apprehension  in  all  her 
tender  parts. 

At  first  he  skated  over  thin  ice,  and  she  missed  seeing 
that  there  were  depths.  It  was  this  wide,  misty  vision 
of  hers  that  made  her  an  indifferent  novelist,  she  always 
saw  surfaces.  Sebastian,  however,  only  needed  a  listener, 
it  did  not  matter  to  him  how  much,  or  little,  she  saw, 
or  misunderstood.  All  his  instincts  were  good,  he  was 
not  David's  son  for  nothing.  But  he  had  been  chaffed 
by  his  City  friends,  comments  were  made,  and  doubts 
thrown  on  his  manhood,  when  he  abstained  from  taking 
part  in  loose  talk,  or  found  no  food  for  laughter  in  coarse 
anecdote.  Vanity  overrode  his  own  secret  antipathy 
to  impure  things.  He  only  wanted  to  know,  it  was  only 
curiosity  he  had,  not  evil  instinct. 

He  met  a  woman  who  quoted  Euripides,  spoke  three 
or  four  modern  languages,  yet  supped  by  herself  at  a  table 
at  the  Continental  Hotel,  and  shared  it  with  any  one 
who  would  pay  for  her  society.  He  could  not  but  talk 
to  Vanessa  of  this  woman,  and  he  described  her  flat, 
and  sought  for  the  clue  to  her  downfall. 

There  was  another,  French  or  Russian,  who  took  a 
fancy  to  him,  and  invited  him  to  her  house  in  Mayfair. 
Sebastian  described  how,  when  he  called,  he  was  shown 
up  to  her  room,  and  how  calmly  she  continued  her  toi- 
lette before  him.  It  was  her  lost  attribute  of  modesty 
that  interested  him,  and  her  utter  want  of  moral  sense, 
not  the  woman,  not  Sacha,  herself. 

"It  is  so  jolly  to  be  able  to  talk  to  you  about  every- 


246  SEBASTIAN 

thing,"  he  said  to  Vanessa,  "you  are  so  sensible.  It 
is  the  psychology  of  the  thing  that  interests  me.  You 
don't  mind  hearing  about  it,  do  you?  I  shall  write 
about  it  myself,  one  day,  if  you  don't  take  it  up, '  Autour 
du  demi-monde,1  I  shall  call  the  book.  I  suppose  my 
French  is  good  enough,  and  if  not,  you  could  polish  it 
up  for  me.  It  wouldn't  do  in  English,  the  British  public 
like  their  powders  in  jam." 

This  was  in  the  beginning.  And  to  his  Aunt  Stella 
he  said : 

"I  am  helping  the  mater  to  a  lot  of  new  copy.  There 
are  a  number  of  tilings  she  knows  nothing  whatever 
about.  Come  to  think  about  it,  Stella,"  -  for  he  refused 
the  prefix  "Aunt"  since  he  had  become  a  man,  and  she 
liked  the  impertinence, — "I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  tell 
her,  but  there  are  ripping  stories  that  have  never  been 
written,  and  she  seems  rather  to  have  slackened  off  in 
her  writing.  '  Between  the  Nisi  and  the  Absolute1  was 
a  frost.  She  doesn't  know  enough,  that's  the  trouble. 
Sometimes  one  would  think  she  had  never  grown  up, 
nor  had  her  eyes  opened,  she  seems  so  curiously  remote. 
I  used  to  take  her  for  granted,  but  now  I  think  about 
her,"  he  added,  ingenuously.  "I  believe  it  will  do  her  a 
lot  of  good  to  hear  about  the  things  I  am  seeing." 

"I  should  think  the  stories  you  tell  her  might  prove 
unpublishable." 

"  No !  what  can  be  lived  can  be  written." 

"Theoretic,  French,  and  untenable." 

"Well,  they  ought  to  be  written." 

"You  don't  tell  them  to  Bice,  I  hope?" 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?" 


SEBASTIAN  247 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  that  your  mother  knows  more 
than  Bice,"  she  murmured. 

"She  is  extraordinarily  innocent,  isn't  she?"  he  went 
on,  confidentially.  "I  test  her  now  and  then,  and  she 
takes  my  breath  away.'  But  she  thinks  she  knows  life 
backward,  that  is  the  funny  thing  about  it." 

"  I'm  not  quite  sure  you  ought  to  discuss  your  mother." 

"It  is  all  right  if  I  only  do  it  with  you,"  he  said,  easily, 
"  there  is  something  about  twins  —  besides  I  am  not 
saying  anything  I  shouldn't.  We  both  know  there  is 
no  one  like  her.  She  came  down  to  Queen  Victoria 
Street  the  other  day,  and  Hayling  was  there,  —  you've 
heard  of  Hayling,  haven't  you?  —  senior  partner  in 
Hayling  and  Johnson.  They  never  did  a  stroke  with  us 
until  I  came  on,  they  were  rather  by  way  of  being  com- 
petitors, they've  got  their  own  mills.  But  now  I  do  a  lot 
of  business  with  them,  and  I  shall  do  more  before  long. 
He  met  the  mater,  and  I  introduced  them.  He  said  he 
didn't  know  I  had  a  sister!  Never  could  believe  she 
was  my  mother.  Don't  you  think  she  is  looking  younger 
than  ever?" 

"Happier."  Stella  knew  Vanessa  was  happy  in  her 
freedom. 

"That's  rot;  she  is  lonely,  I  suppose,"  he  had  never 
got  close  to  the  truth  about  Vanessa's  attitude  toward 
his  father,  "but  I  think  she  is  going  on  all  right.  We 
talk  of  starting  a  book,  or  play,  in  collaboration.  Not 
that  our  talents  march  together.  I  am  really  quicker, 
you  know,  up  and  dressed,  so  to  speak,  before  she's 
out  of  bed.  Besides  I'm  so  dog  tired  of  an  evening,  that 
business  of  mine  is  a  fearful  strain •" 


248  SEBASTIAN 

Vanessa  was  exerting  herself  now  that  Sebastian  should 
miss  nothing  in  her  companionship.  Always  she  had 
intended  to  be  father  and  mother  to  him,  and  had  been 
full  of  theories.  At  this  juncture  she  felt  it  might  be  a 
father  he  needed.  In  truth  she  hated  the  nights  he  was 
out,  and  feared  the  things  he  would  tell  her  in  the  morn- 
ings. She  concealed  her  feelings,  she  was  ashamed  of 
them.  She,  too,  thought  a  knowledge  of  "life"  might 
be  essential,  and  sought  for  the  cause  of  her  late  failure 
in  her  ignorance  of  ugly  things.  But  she  began  to  be 
haunted  by  ugliness,  and  to  dread  always  more  Sebas- 
tian's revelations.  It  was  impossible  to  conceal  her 
distress  of  mind.  Stella  laughed  at  her  when  a  few  halt- 
ing words  revealed  the  cause  of  a  growing  restlessness, 
and  anxiety  of  demeanour. 

"Are  you  worrying  yourself  into  a  shadow,  because 
Sebastian  is  stopping  out  late,  or  going  out  of  town  from 
Friday  until  Monday  ?  What  did  you  expect  of  him  ? 
you  did  not  want  him  to  be  a  saint,  I  suppose  ?  How 
can  you  make  yourself  so  ridiculous  about  that  boy  ?  I 
can't  make  it  out." 

And  Hilda  de  Cliffe,  who  had  her  own  quick  way  of 
gratifying  a  curiosity,  was  no  more  sympathetic. 

"Do  tell  me,  I  am  just  like  Rosa  Dartle,  I  always 
want  to  know.  Is  it  true  that  Sebastian  is  getting  up 
London  life  for  you?  Has  he  made  any  wonderful  dis- 
coveries ?  Are  they  going  to  be  in  your  next  book  ?" 

Vanessa  found  curiosity,  sympathy,  and  comment 
equally  hard  to  bear.  And  indeed  Sebastian's  im- 
petuosity, and  way  of  flinging  himself  entirely  into  the 
affair  of  the  moment,  made  the  position  dangerous. 


SEBASTIAN  249 

Sometimes  he  gave,  at  breakfast  or  dinner,  a  lurid  glimpse 
into  his  evening  life.  But  she  never  could  quite  grasp 
if  he  coloured  or  cleared  it  of  colour. 

Whilst  he  remained  curious  only,  and  a  student,  she 
was  completely  in  his  confidence.  There  came  a  time, 
however,  when  he  penetrated  the  arcana,  and  what  he 
saw  he  had  no  wish  to  tell  her.  But  she  had  glimpses. 

"  Mater,  could  you  let  me  have  £250  ?  I  made  a  bit 
of  an  ass  of  myself  last  night,"  he  said  to  her  one  morning, 
"without  inconvenience,  I  mean." 

"  Whatever  I  have  is  yours,  of  course.  I  think  there 
is  more  than  that  in  the  bank,  doing  nothing." 

He  looked  rather  pale,  his  eyes  were  not  quite  as 
bright  as  they  had  been,  and  there  were  shadows  under 
them.  He  was  very  thin. 

"I  am  keeping  awful  hours,"  it  was  at  breakfast,  but 
he  was  yawning.  "I  never  got  home  until  four  this 
morning;  three  hours'  sleep  isn't  enough  for  a  fellow,  is 
it  ?  But  I  have  not  been  late  in  the  City  any  morning, 
have  I?"  He  wanted  her  commendation.  "A  fellow 
must  live  through  this  sort  of  thing." 

She,  too,  was  tired  this  morning,  having  listened  for 
his  footstep,  and  given  rein  to  her  imagination,  through 
a  lurid  night. 

"Shall  I  write  you  the  cheque  now?" 

"  You  don't  ask  what  it  is  for  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  ?  You  will  tell  me  if  you  want  me  to 
know." 

"You  can  hear,  if  you  like.  I  rather  hate  having 
been  such  an  ass." 

"You  said  you  were  going  to  the  American  ball." 


250  SEBASTIAN 

"So  I  did.    I  met  some  people  I  knew." 

"Some  one  you  knew  in  America?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  isn't  Americans  who  go  to  this 
sort  of  function,  they  want  to  get  away  from  their  own 
people.  I  can't  tell  you  now,  I  must  be  off.  This 
damned  office  is  getting  on  my  nerves.  I  feel  like  a 
galley  slave,  chained  to  the  oar.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it 
this  evening;  I  shan't  go  out,  I'm  tired  of  it  all." 

His  morning  mood  dismayed  her.  She  thought  noth- 
ing of  the  cheque.  Vanessa's  generosity  was  not  even 
admirable,  she  always  had  more  than  she  wanted. 
But  the  boy  left  behind  him  that  morning  almost  every 
species  of  misgiving.  He  was  tired  of  City  work !  She 
had  anticipated  the  moment;  but  now  it  seemed  a 
weakness.  Joe  had  warned  her  of  a  possible  failure. 
And  she  wanted  to  have  been  able  to  boast  to  him  of  an 
overwhelming  success.  The  boy  was  overstraining 
himself,  physically,  through  want  of  sleep.  He  had 
eaten  no  breakfast,  and  admitted  he  had  drank  more 
than  was  good  for  him  last  night.  He  had  admitted, 
too,  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself,  and  this  was  the 
first  time  she  had  heard  him  self-condemnatory. 

The  day  was  full  of  fears,  and  she  tortured  herself 
with  questions.  She  had  had  such  fine  material  en- 
trusted her.  The  boy  had  brain,  and  heart,  and  capacity. 
What  had  she  done,  or  left  undone,  that  he  should  have 
come  to  this  pass  ?  And  of  course  she  exaggerated  the 
nature  of  the  u  pass,"  dreaming  of  crevasse  and  precipice, 
whilst  as  yet,  it  was  only  that  the  sky  was  slightly  over- 
cast, and  the  air  cold. 

That  same  evening,  enervated,  slack,  and  sorry  for 


SEBASTIAN  251 

himself,  Sebastian  gave  her  an  outline  of  what  had  oc- 
curred to  him.  She  was  glad  to  have  him  at  home,  and 
made  him  drink  champagne  with  his  dinner.  Now  she 
bade  him  lie  on  the  sofa,  she  adjusted  the  pillows,  and 
turned  the  lamp  low. 

"You  are  not  looking  well,"  was  an  involuntary  state- 
ment, although  it  was  so  obviously  true.  He  took  a 
little  pride  in  his  dissipated  appearance,  and  went  over 
to  the  mirror,  before  he  accepted  the  sofa  and  the 
cushions. 

"  I  am  thin,  aren't  I  ?"  he  said,  ingenuously,  "  you  can't 
burn  the  candle  at  both  ends  without  feeling  it.  Isn't 
that  four  nights  running  that  I've  been  on  the  go  ?  I 
shall  have  to  pull  up." 

But  it  was  clear  he  was  not  really  ashamed.  All  these 
months  he  had  only  been  a  looker-on.  He  remained  an 
idealist,  and,  true  to  his  ideals,  it  was  only  knowledge 
that  he  sought.  On  the  subject  of  the  cheque  that  had 
been  required,  however,  he  was  a  little  ashamed. 

"I  ought  to  have  tumbled  to  it,  of  course.  I  was 
cheated.  I  played  poker  before,  in  the  States,  but  that 
was  among  friends,  dollar  rises." 

She  was  listening  with  all  her  ears  and  intelligence. 
It  was  a  gambling  debt  then  that  she  had  discharged. 

He  flung  himself  on  the  sofa,  and  went  on : 

"Hayling  was  at  the  ball,  with  rather  a  rowdy  party. 
We  really  had  quite  a  good  time,"  he  began  to  recall  the 
events  of  the  evening  with  a  certain  relish,  notwithstand- 
ing the  climax.  "I  danced  a  lot,  and  there  was  plenty 
of  champagne.  Hayling  rather  flung  it  about,  I  was  tired 
before  I  started,  and  wanted  bucking  up.  It  was  In- 


252  SEBASTIAN 

dependence  Day,  and  we  strained  the  point,  perhaps; 
American  songs  and  choruses,  waving  flags  and  so  on, 
you  know  the  sort  of  thing.  A  little  woman  that  I'd 
been  dancing  with  most  of  the  evening,  she  had  reddish 
hair,  and  a  ripping  figure,  asked  me  to  get  her  out  of  it. 
She  said  it  was  getting  too  hot;  it  was  rather  hot." 

He  smiled  reminiscently  at  a  rowdyism  in  which  he 
had  been  rather  spectator  than  actor.  "Of  course  I 
couldn't  do  less  than  see  her  home.  She  has  a  flat  in 
Victoria  Street.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  domes- 
ticated ;  I  stumbled  over  a  perambulator  in  the  passage. 
She  asked  me  to  come  in,  she  said  her  husband  would  be 
sitting  up,  would  like  to  thank  me  for  my  kindness  to 
her.  She  told  me  he  was  an  Englishman,  an  old  Etonian, 
so  of  course  he  would  not  celebrate  an  Independence  Day. 
Well,  mater,  he  was  a  very  nice  chap,  and  he  had  been  in 
Luxmore's  house.  We  had  a  whisky  and  soda  together, 
and  talked  about  the  place.  He  had  been  rather  good  at 
racquets ;  and  he  agreed  with  what  I  said,  that  we  only 
really  begin  to  care  for  Eton  after  we  have  left  it.  I 
would  not  give  up  my  memories  of  Eton  for  anything, 
now,  and  I  hated  it  all  the  time  I  was  there,  and  so  had 
he.  It  was  too  early  to  turn  in  !  I  think  it  was  her  sug- 
gestion to  send  into  the  other  flat,  and  finish  up  the 
evening  with  a  game  of  poker.  Anyway  he  went  to  see 
if  there  was  any  one  there,  and  I  got  on  all  right  with  her 
alone." 

His  smile,  at  the  remembrance  of  the  few  moments 
he  had  with  this  attractive,  red-haired  young  woman, 
was  rather  that  of  a  mischievous  schoolboy,  than  of  a 
dissipated  young  man. 


SEBASTIAN  253 

"He  brought  back  two  pals  of  his,  or  hers,  they  were 
both  in  the  army,  oldish  men.  I  didn't  care  for  either. 
They  had  to  teach  me  the  game,  I  had  forgotten  the 
values,  although  I  knew  all  about  the  'rises'  and  '  blinds.' 
I  don't  think  we  fixed  any  limit.  To  make  a  long  story 
short,  I  won  at  first,  and  then  I  lost.  I  got  the  needle, 
and  played  it  up.  Then  I  drew  four  kings,  and  went 
up  to  £150.  There  were  four  aces  against  me !  I  had 
had  enough  of  it  then.  They  were  very  nice  about  it, 
I  must  say  that  for  them,  they  were  sorry  I'd  lost,  and 
said  I  could  have  my  revenge  any  time.  I  hadn't  the 
money  on  me,  so  I  gave  an  I.O.U.  for  it." 

"It  was  very  unlucky." 

She  did  not  know  anything  at  all  about  the  game, 
but  gathered  that  the  four  kings  should  have  been  suc- 
cessful. 

"Well!  that  is  what  gives  me  the  sick."  Sebastian 
had  obviously  renewed  his  acquaintanceship  with  Amer- 
ican phraseology.  "I  started  telling  Hayling  about  it 
to-day;  we  lunched  together.  He  says  they  are  card- 
sharpers,  known  to  the  police,  known  to  everybody. 
Captain  Villiers,  Major  Elers,  they  call  themselves; 
there  is  a  regular  gang  of  them." 

"And  the  red-haired  lady?" 

"God  knows."  He  stretched  himself,  and  yawned. 
"  What  I  can't  get  over  is  having  been  such  a  mug.  They 
must  have  stacked  the  cards,  of  course." 

She  wanted  to  restore  his  belief  in  himself,  to  comfort 
him  for  having  been  cheated. 

"  You  could  not  possibly  have  known.  I  do  not  under- 
stand how  such  a  person  could  have  got  in  to  the  dance. 


254  SEBASTIAN 

Several  people  I  know  attend  it  regularly;  the  American 
Ambassador  is  one  of  the  patrons." 

"The  tickets  are  only  ten  bob,  anybody  can  get  in. 
The  strange  part  is  that  she  really  is  a  nice  little  woman, 
and  there  is  no  doubt  her  husband  was  at  Eton." 

"You  will  not  go  there  again,  you  will  not  pursue 
the  acquaintance?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"I  am  not  so  bally  sure.  Forewarned  is  forearmed, 
I  shan't  play  cards  there  again,  but  she  is  rather  an 
attractive  little  donah !" 

This  incident  became  one  of  many.  Letters  and 
telegrams  came  to  the  house.  Sebastian  seemed  to  be  in 
great,  and  ever  greater,  request  amongst  a  whole  section 
of  people  who  were  unknown  to  his  mother.  Out  of  a 
shifting  kaleidoscope  of  names,  and  places,  and  personal- 
ities, one  or  two  began  to  grow  clear.  Hayling,  for  in- 
stance, was  brought  home,  apparently  at  his  own  request. 

She  found  herself  distrustful  of  him,  and  resented  the 
familiarity  of  his  manner.  He  was  a  partner  in  "John- 
son and  Hay  lings,"  one  of  the  leading  firms  in  the  paper 
trade.  They  had  been  doing,  for  many  years,  the  bulk 
of  the  trade  that  Sebastian  was  keen  on  obtaining  for 
Kendalls.  Mr.  Hayling  dropped  into  confidential  talk 
with  Vanessa,  the  first  evening  he  dined  with  them. 

"Your  son  and  I  are  great  friends;  I  try  to  be  of  a 
little  assistance  to  him  now  and  again.  I  am  so  much 
older  than  he  is." 

"He  has  had  the  benefit  of  his  father's  experience," 
she  answered,  stiffly.  She  was  up  in  arms  at  once  at  the 
note  of  patronage  she  detected,  or  suspected. 

"Of  course,  but  I  wasn't  alluding " 


SEBASTIAN  255 

"The  pater  only  had  experience  of  an  out-of-date 
branch/'  Sebastian  struck  in,  "hand-made  has  gone  pop. 
No  one  uses  it.  Nobody  cares  for  quality  now,  except 
half  a  dozen  firms,  that  we  have  got  stone  cold,  firms 
we  have  done  business  with  for  centuries.  There  isn't 
a  living  in  it,  not  enough  to  persuade  a  bank  clerk  from 
his  stool." 

Hayling  protested  against  such  a  sweeping  statement, 
and  argument  ensued. 

Mr.  Hayling,  Robert,  or  "Bob,"  as  his  friends  called 
him,  familiarly,  was  what  is  generally  known  as  a  "  man 
about  town."  His  family  were  business  people,  origi- 
nally Quakers,  and  they  had  been  rich  for  three  genera- 
tions. Bob  had  been  to  a  public  school,  and  graduated 
at  Cambridge,  taking  a  respectable  second  class.  At 
twenty-two  he  married  a  young  woman  he  met  in  a  tea- 
shop,  and  at  twenty-three  he  had  grown  tired  of  her. 
Her  early  death  left  him  free  to  indulge  his  tastes,  which 
were  eclectic,  and  untrammelled  save  by  his  own  con- 
venience. He  was  justified  in  representing  himself  as 
capable  of  benefiting  Sebastian  by  his  business  expe- 
rience, for  he  worked  well  in  the  City,  in  the  intervals 
of  his  self  indulgence  in  the  West  End.  But  there  was 
an  absence  of  moral  consciousness  about  him  that  led 
one  to  doubt  even  his  commercial  integrity. 

Vanessa  did  not  like  her  son's  friend,  and  found  it 
difficult  to  understand  the  genesis  of  the  intimacy, 
although  the  whole  of  that  first  evening,  and  for  many 
months  to  follow,  Bob  Hayling  devoted  himself  strenu- 
ously to  the  task  of  making  himself  as  acceptable  to  the 
mother  as  he  had  to  the  son. 


256  SEBASTIAN 

He  was  undeniably  good-looking,  in  a  grey-haired, 
exhausted  way.  There  was  no  more  colour  in  his  face 
than  in  his  hair,  his  complexion  was  grey,  his  face  clean 
shaven,  and  all  the  lines  exposed.  His  figure  was  good, 
and  his  height  over  six  feet,  he  was  undoubtedly  what 
the  majority  of  women  would  call  "a  fine  man."  He 
wore  an  eyeglass,  on  a  moire  silk  ribbon,  and  dressed 
with  extreme  care.  He  pursued  adventure,  as  other 
men  pursue  foxes,  or  kill  game.  It  was  the  only  sport 
he  knew.  Already  past  his  fortieth  year,  he  had  grown 
perhaps  a  little  languid  in  his  pleasures.  He  sometimes 
thought,  now,  that  there  might  be  an  attraction  in 
domesticity,  and  one's  own  hearth.  But  he  had  been 
too  long  used  to  play  the  cuckoo  for  him  to  lightly  con- 
template building  a  nest.  His  particular  charm,  and 
what  he  considered  the  cause  of  his  almost  infallible 
success  with  women,  was  a  confidential  tone,  and  a 
caressing  manner.  He  meant  to  have  a  "success"  with 
Sebastian's  mother,  but  it  would  seem  that  it  was  long 
in  coming. 

"You  don't  like  Hayling,  mater?"  Sebastian  said  to 
her,  at  breakfast.  "  Now  I  wonder  why  ?  He  is  quite 
a  good  sort.  It  was  his  idea  my  bringing  him  home. 
He  has  asked  me  about  it  two  or  three  times  since  that 
day  when  he  first  saw  you  in  the  City.  You  were  not 
very  civil  to  him  last  night.  I  can't  think  why." 

"I  thought  I  was  quite  civil,  I  tried  to  be,  but  I  admit 
he  did  not  impress  me  favourably." 

"His  manners  are  good?  " 

"Y-e-es,  perhaps.  But  there  seems  to  be  rather  too 
much  of  them." 


SEBASTIAN  257 

"He  puts  things  in  my  way." 

"That  is  what  I  fear-    -" 

The  boy  reddened. 

"Of  course  you  know  what  I  mean/'  he  interrupted 
shortly,  "in  the  City.  He  took  a  stack  of  stuff  off  my 
hands  when  I  collared  that  contract  from  Pierce's,  and 
then  couldn't  place  it.  You're  prejudiced  against  him, 
because  he  is  in  trade." 

"Or  because  he  introduces  you  to  undesirable  people 
at  American  balls  !  " 

Nevertheless,  and  without  her  being  able  to  avoid, 
or  perhaps  to  justify,  her  desire  to  avoid  him,  Hayling 
became  a  frequenter  of  the  Harley  Street  house  ;  Se- 
bastian brought  him  home  to  dinner  two  or  three  times 
a  week.  It  seemed  that,  in  all  the  dissipations  in  which 
Sebastian  took  part,  Hayling  was  an  active,  or  passive, 
participant.  And  he  insisted  on  being  confidential 
with  Vanessa,  sometimes  vexing  her  by  a  knowledge  of 
the  boy's  doings,  by  being  more  completely  in  his  con- 
fidence than  she,  sometimes  reassuring  her  to  the  im- 
pression that  he  was  genuinely  fond  of  the  boy,  and 
anxious  to  pilot  him  safely  through  a  difficult  tide. 

But  she  would  not  receive  the  other  impression  he 
wished  to  convey,  that  it  was  his  interest  in  her  that 
prompted,  or  deepened,  his  interest  in  Sebastian.  Bob 
Hayling  was  more  or  less  a  professional  lover,  with 
conventional  compliments  and  cliches.  Sometimes  he 
irritated  Vanessa,  and  often  he  bored  her.  Eventually 
she  came  to  look  upon  him  as  mere  material,  and  the 
interest  she  then  extended  to  him  was  used  to  elicit 
stock  phrases  of  which  she  kept  notes. 


SOME  few  weeks  after  the  poker  incident,  Vanessa 
became  aware  that  a  new  interest,  or  absorption,  held 
Sebastian's  leisure  hours.  She  had  a  prevision  of  fresh 
trouble.  She  still  refrained  from  questioning  him,  but 
his  ingenuousness  gave  her  the  clue  to  an  acquaintance 
that,  the  moment  they  touched  upon  the  subject,  he 
admitted  he  found  extraordinarily  exciting.  There  was 
mystery  in  it,  and  romance.  It  was  not  his  heart  that 
was  involved,  it  was  his  imagination. 

"You  remember,  mater,  lending  me  the  Victoria  for 
a  couple  of  hours  last  Thursday  ?  I  meant  to  go  up  to 
the  Albert  Hall  to  see  about  those  tickets  for  you.  But 
just  as  I  got  halfway  through  the  park ;  it  was  by  the 
water,  before  we  got  to  the  gate ;  a  lady  bowed  to  me,  a 
ripping-looking  woman.  She  was  in  a  very  smart  turn- 
out, a  fine  pair  of  bays,  quite  the  right  thing  in  liveries, 
and  cockade,  and  the  rest  of  it.  I  returned  the  bow, 
although  I  did  not  know  her  from  Adam.  I  wanted  to 
have  another  look,  so  I  told  John  to  turn.  We  got 
stopped  by  the  traffic,  side  by  side.  She  had  bowed  to 
me,  so  I  didn't  see  any  harm  in  smiling  at  her.  Then 
she  leaned  forward,  and  said: 

" '  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  met.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve you  even  recognised  me  at  first  ?  ' 

"I  had  never  set  eyes  on  the  woman  before.    So  I 

258 


SEBASTIAN  259 

protested  that  I  could  not  possibly  have  forgotten  her, 
that  I  remembered  her  perfectly. 

"'How  long  are  we  going  to  be  held  up  here?'  she 
asked.  I  told  her  I  'couldn't  think.'  'Well,  it  seems 
absurd  we  should  be  in  two  carriages,  when  we  could  talk 
so  much  better  in  one,'  she  answered.  And  it  did  not 
take  me  long  to  be  sitting  beside  her,  talking  as  if  we  had 
known  each  other  all  our  lives." 

He  went  on  to  say  that  her  conversation  was  most 
interesting,  and  it  was  obvious  she  moved  in  select 
circles.  For  she  knew,  and  bowed,  to  many  people,  and 
she  spoke  familiarly  of  the  royalties,  calling  them  by 
their  Christian  names.  She  accepted  an  invitation, 
which  she  prompted  Sebastian  to  issue,  that  they  should 
dine  together.  She  became  suddenly  doubtful,  however, 
if  the  proprieties  were  being  observed,  and  she  tried  to 
"cry  off."  Sebastian  admitted  that  he  was  insistent, 
and  pleaded  their  old  acquaintanceship  !  And  that  pres- 
ently the  plea  prevailed. 

Vanessa  heard  this  part  of  the  story  from  Sebas- 
tian. He  related  incidents  of  the  dinner  and  evening, 
how  the  waiter  called  his  guest  "your  ladyship,"  and 
how  she  rebuked  his  indiscretion ! 

Sebastian  was  really  ingenuous,  at  twenty-one  illusion 
had  not  yet  vanished,  and  he  was  imaginative  by  in- 
heritance. 

After  the  dinner,  he  had  seen  the  woman  home  to  a 
luxurious  flat  in  St.  James's,  where  two  men-servants, 
and  a  French  maid,  completed  the  impression  she  con- 
veyed. He  thought  now  that  either  a  fancied  resem- 
blance to  some  one  else,  or  his  own  beaux  yeux,  had  at- 


260  SEBASTIAN 

tracted  to  him  one  of  the  leaders  of  society !  He  respected 
her  anonymity,  accepting  a  nom  de  guerre  she  gave,  but 
which  she  owned  was  not  her  own. 

She  admitted,  too,  it  appeared,  that  she  found  his 
society  attractive,  and  deplored  that  she  was  not  free 
to  indulge  herself  in  it  openly. 

The  wildest  conjectures  floated  in  the  liquidity  of 
Sebastian's  mind.  He  conferred  peerages  upon  her, 
sometimes  even  crediting  her  with  royal  blood. 

Before  he  was  disillusioned,  however,  he  became, 
for  some  reason  or  another,  firmly  convinced  that  she 
was  a  very  well-known  lady,  not  of  the  blood  royal,  but 
"daughter  of  a  hundred  earls,"  and  recently  involved  in 
a  complicated  divorce  suit,  from  which  she  had  emerged 
with  sufficient  reputation  to  make  it  possible  that  the 
co-respondent  should  deem  it  his  duty  to  marry  her ! 

Sebastian  took  the  theme  of  his  mother's  last  book 
for  his  inspiration.  If  he  were  right  in  his  identification, 
then  she  was  living  in  that  strange  period  "Between  the 
Nisi  and  the  Absolute."  Sebastian  thought  it  was  pos- 
sible her  lover  was  abroad.  He  did  not  find  it  strange  that 
she  should  wish  to  give  him  her  unoccupied  hours,  nor 
hesitate  to  avail  himself  of  them. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  entanglement,  Sebastian 
voiced  to  Vanessa  his  interest,  doubts,  and  amazing, 
imaginative  conclusions.  As  his  interest  deepened,  and 
the  toils  gathered  round  him,  Bob  Hayling  dropped 
her  a  hint  or  two.  By  the  time  the  boy's  infatuation 
was  patent  to  all  London,  Vanessa  was  conscious  of  a 
change  in  his  manner  toward  her.  It  was  not  that  he 
was  a  less  good  son,  but  her  instinct  taught  her  that  she 


SEBASTIAN  261 

was  somewhat  of  a  tie  to  him,  that  she  had  better  not 
claim  his  time,  that  what  had  been  pleasure,  the  inter- 
course between  them,  and  familiar  talk,  was  now  an 
irksome  duty.  His  mind  was  elsewhere,  and  it  was 
difficult  for  him  to  conceal  it.  Even  Bob  was  no  longer 
fully  in  his  confidence  : 

"I  suspect  what  is  going  on,  but  I  can't  make  him 
talk  about  it,"  he  admitted  to  Vanessa.  "Don't  allow 
yourself  to  be  unhappy  about  it.  I  don't  suppose  there 
is  going  to  be  trouble,  although  this  secrecy  is  a  bad  sign. 
Would  you  like  me  to  investigate?  " 

"I  should  not  like  to  pry  upon  him,"  she  hesitated. 

Again  she  was  distracted  by  fears.  If  she,  too,  had 
not  been  full  of  false  theory,  and  impossible  councils  of 
perfection,  it  would  have  been  easier  to  meet  the  situa- 
tion. As  it  was,  she  hesitated,  and  suffered. 

But  Bob,  without  a  commission,  urged  by  his  own 
curiosity,  took  the  matter  up,  and  soon  found  the  way  to 
meet  Sebastian's  new  reticence. 

"You  are  such  a  beastly  cynic,"  the  boy  admitted, 
"I  don't  want  to  have  her  picked  to  pieces." 

"  Well,  you  need  not  keep  her  such  a  secret,  you  might 
introduce  me,  for  instance." 

"I  haven't  the  privilege.  I  am  not  sure  she  would 
like  it." 

"You  see  her  nearly  every  day  ?  "  he  asked,  curiously. 

"It  is  not  a  bit  what  you  think.  She  is  going  through 
a  difficult  time." 

"Costing  you  something?  "  he  asked,  brutally. 

"There  you  go.  I  swear  the  mater  is  right,  there  is 
something  inherently  coarse  about  you." 


262  SEBASTIAN 

"Did  your  mother  say  that?"  he  asked,  with  a  slow 
flush.  Sebastian  was  sorry  he  had  said  it.  For  Bob 
changed  colour  under  his  grey  skin.  He  scored  it  up 
against  Vanessa,  the  total  of  these  scores  was  getting 
high. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  if  she  was  costing  me  anything? 
It  shows  such  a  beastly  mind." 

"You  are  a  lucky  fellow,  it  doesn't  matter  to  you  what 
you  spend  on  women,"  Bob  sighed.  It  was  his  method  to 
endow  Sebastian  with  supposition  wealth,  to  credit  him 
with  a  great  and  growing  business,  to  envy  his  luck 
generally.  The  boy  liked  this,  it  added  to  his  impor- 
tance. 

"You  know,  Bob,"  he  went  on,  reluctantly,  he  did 
not  want  to  talk  of  that  which  obsessed  him,  but  they 
were  lunching  together  in  the  City,  and  the  occasion  lent 
itself  to  philosophy,  "that  is  a  rotten  phrase  of  yours, 
'  spending  money  on  women ' !  We  spend  it  with  women, 
because  we  cannot  spend  it  without  them.  There  is 
not  much  fun  having  the  best  dinner  in  the  world,  if  we 
dine  by  ourselves,  is  there  ?  I  don't  think  we  are  doing 
women  a  favour  by  taking  them  out,  they  are  doing  us 
one,  by  coming." 

"  She  has  taught  you  a  lot,  eh !  " 

"Oh!    Go  to  hell!" 

Sebastian  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  rose  impatiently. 

He  was  dwelling  in  a  region  of  romance.  But  very 
close  to  his  new  domain  there  might  be  ugly  realism  and 
slumland.  He  did  not  want  to  see  them.  Bob  was 
spectroscopic. 

It  was  a  mood  difficult,  of  course,  or  impossible,  of 


SEBASTIAN  263 

continuance.  He  was  young,  idealistic,  sentimental. 
But  he  was  no  fool.  The  woman  began  to  make  pulls  on 
his  credulity,  and,  incidentally,  on  his  purse.  Then  her 
conduct  varied  from  that  of  a  princess  in  disguise  to 
that  of  Lai's.  To  be  her  protector  appealed  to  his 
chivalry ;  to  be  her  lover  would  have  spoiled  everything 
that  had  appealed  to  him.  She  had  met  nothing  as  fine 
as  Sebastian,  and  she  did  not  understand  the  way  to  keep 
him.  The  illusion  would  have  survived  the  arrears  of 
rent  at  the  flat,  the  stories  of  the  large  sum  of  money 
that  had  been  expected,  but  had  failed  to  come ;  he  could 
even  have  commiserated,  and  accepted,  the  moments 
when  he  found  her  the  worse  for  drink.  Had  not  her 
husband  divorced  her,  her  lover  left  her  ?  Was  she  not 
alone  in  the  world,  save  for  him?  But  some  of  the 
scales  fell  from  his  eyes  when  she  would  have  paid  his 
liberality  with  caresses.  She  did  not  understand  his 
flush  to  be  of  repulsion,  his  rejection  to  be  distaste. 
She  rallied  him  on  his  innocency,  and  completed  the 
disenchantment.  But  unfortunately,  not  sufficiently 
soon,  nor  definitely.  The  matter  was  brought  to  a 
climax  after  one  desperate  night  when  Vanessa  lay 
awake  until  the  dawn,  listening  for  the  boy's  footsteps. 
He  came  in  toward  four;  she  heard  him  moving  about, 
and  restless.  Neither  of  them  had  slept,  it  appeared, 
and  even  before  breakfast  he  knocked  at  the  door. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  something,"  he  said.  "Send 
Marie  away,  do  your  own  hair." 

"Must  I?  I  do  it  so  badly,"  she  answered,  ner- 
vously; her  bad  night  had  demoralised  her,  and  she 
was  fearful  of  what  she  would  hear. 


264  SEBASTIAN 

"You  had  better  know  before  you  get  the  papers.  I 
got  into  a  row  last  night.  .  .  ." 

"The  papers?" 

"  You  know  about  the  Princess  ?  "  Vanessa  had  given 
her  that  name  when,  in  the  early  days  of  his  confidences, 
Sebastian  had  been  so  convinced  of  blood  royal  in  the 
veins  of  his  incognito.  "I  was  there  last  night,  rather 
late.  She  had  been  bothered ;  she  was  out  of  sorts,  and 
begged  me  not  to  go,  she  was  fearfully  nervous."  He 
did  not  say  that  she  had  been  drinking  all  day,  but  in 
any  case  it  appeared  she  had  dreaded  her  own  company. 

It  was  a  sordid,  ugly  story  that  came  out.  The  boy 
was  distressed  and  worried,  yet  even  in  the  morning 
light  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  have  acted  differently. 

A  man  had  demanded  admittance  to  the  flat  at  one  in 
the  morning.  The  Princess  had  appealed  to  Sebastian 
for  protection,  she  had  represented  her  untoward  visitor 
as  an  insistent  creditor !  The  boy  had  taken  a  high  hand, 
and  ordered  the  man  out.  He  retorted  with  unpardon- 
able words;  he  was  obviously  drunk,  and  Sebastian 
had  knocked  him  down.  There  was  a  scrimmage,  a 
great  deal  of  unnecessary  noise,  and  occupants  of  the 
other  flats  had  sent  the  night  porter  to  investigate  the 
cause  of  the  tumult.  The  upshot  was  that  the  police 
were  called  in.  The  man  was  charged  with  "  breaking  and 
entering  " ;  and  he  brought  a  counter  charge  of  assault 
against  Sebastian.  The  whole  degrading  business  must 
be  threshed  out  this  morning,  at  eleven  o'clock,  in  the 
Marylebone  Street  Police  Court. 

Of  course,  both  mother  and  son  took  an  exaggerated 
view  of  the  incident.  In  the  first  flush  of  it,  Vanessa 


SEBASTIAN  265 

thought  she  could  never  hold  up  her  head  again  among 
the  friends  to  whom  she  had  so  often  spoken  of  Sebas- 
tian, who  knew  how  she  regarded  him ;  she  was  shamed, 
humiliated.  Sebastian  himself  fluctuated  uncertainly 
between  the  doubt  whether  he  would  be  considered  by 
his  City  friends  and  clients  as  a  hero,  or  merely  as  a 
brawler ! 

"I  don't  see  what  else  I  could  have  done,"  he  re- 
peated. "I  don't  think  it  will  do  me  any  harm  in 
business.  I  shall  'phone  Bob  to  come  and  see  me 
through.  The  man  came  there  to  make  a  row,  and  she 
asked  me  to  get  rid  of  him.  What  would  you  have  had 
me  do?" 

What  Vanessa  would  have  really  liked  was  that  he 
should  avoid  the  company  of  bad  women.  But  it  had 
seemed  to  him  part  of  the  necessary  equipment  of  life. 
And  to  this  view  Bob  Hayling  persuaded  him,  and  al- 
most succeeded  in  persuading  her,  when  he  arrived, 
hot  foot,  in  time  to  accompany  Sebastian  to  the  police 
station.  He  was  really  helpful  and  alive  to  the  situa- 
tion. He  made  Sebastian  send  for  a  lawyer,  and 
whilst  he  was  out  of  the  room,  telephoning  to  the  one 
Bob  recommended,  Bob  put  the  situation  tersely  before 
Vanessa : 

"He  must  sow  his  wild  oats.  Of  course  I  didn't 
know  it  was  the  'Princess  of  Pilsenstein'  who  had  got 
hold  of  him,  or  I  might  have  stopped  it,"  he  said.  "I 
know  all  about  it  now.  The  Nawaab  brought  her  out 
about  fifteen  years  ago,  spending  money  on  her  like 
water.  When  his  claim  on  the  Government  was  got 
rid  of,  and  he  was  left  with  two  thousand  a  year,  and  a 


266  SEBASTIAN 

recommendation  to  go  back  to  Nepaul,  she  took  up 
with  Oldcastle,  the  eldest  son  of  the  Duke  of  Thanet. 
He  is  supposed  to  have  said  to  her,  'I  can't  give  you 
wonderful  gems  like  the  Nawaab/  and  she  to  have 
replied,  coolly,  'Don't  worry,  I'll  rough  it  on  the  Thanet 
diamonds.'  There  are  any  number  of  stories  about  her, 
more  or  less  true.  She  is  a  wonderful-looking  woman  for 
her  age,  I'm  not  surprised  she  took  hi  Sebastian." 

Bob  said  there  would  be  no  doubt  now  about  freeing 
Sebastian  from  the  entanglement  without  any  further 
damage.  The  police  would  have  her  dossier,  he  would 
learn  all  that  was  necessary. 

"But  what  will  happen?" 

"Prosecutor  and  defendant  will  both  be  bound  over. 
You  will  be  surprised  to  find  how  quickly  the  magis- 
trate will  understand  what  is  behind  the  case." 

"And  will  it  be  hi  all  the  papers?" 

"I  should  think  so.     But  there  is  nothing  much  in  it." 

"We  have  different  points  of  view." 

Bob  was  putting  her  under  an  obligation  to  him,  but 
she  could  not  be  grateful.  It  seemed  to  her  that  his 
whole  perspective  was  awry. 

"You  can't  expect  a  young  fellow  to  sit  at  home, 
evening  after  evening,  twiddling  his  thumbs." 

"We  won't  discuss  ethics."  She  had  poured  Mr. 
Hayling  out  a  cup  of  coffee.  He  had  hurried  out,  with- 
out breakfast,  in  response  to  Sebastian's  hasty  sum- 
mons. But  now  she  rose  to  leave  him.  He  put  his 
cup  down.  He  intercepted  her  at  the  door: 

"Just  wait  one  minute." 

She  had  no  choice,  for  he  had  not  opened  the  door 


SEBASTIAN  267 

for  her,  only  guarded  it.  "You've  set  yourself  against 
me.  You  think  I've  a  bad  influence  on  Sebastian. 
But  you  are  wrong.  I'd  do  anything  for  him,  or  for 
you.  I  want  you  to  like  me." 

"Before  he  knew  you,  Sebastian  was  all  and  more 
than  a  boy  should  be,"  she  answered,  deliberately. 

"He  wasn't  twenty-one,  he  hadn't  begun  to  live. 
Look  facts  in  the  face.  All  young  fellows  have  to  pass 
this  stage.  Sebastian  is  going  through  all  right,  he 
won't  come  a  mucker,  I  promise  you  that.  His  head 
is  screwed  on  the  right  way,  he  doesn't  care  for  drink, 
he  is  no  gambler.  I'll  see  no  one  gets  right  hold  of 
him,  if  you'll  only  trust  me." 

He  wanted  to  make  love  to  her,  it  had  gone  home 
to  him  that  she  found  him  coarse.  Her  aloofness  was 
unbearable  to  him. 

"Leave  the  boy  alone  a  minute.  Let  us  talk  of  our- 
selves. You've  never  given  me  a  chance."  He  did  the 
wrong  thing,  the  inevitably  wrong  thing,  he  tried  to 
prevent  her  going,  to  keep  the  door  against  her.  "Give 
me  a  chance." 

"Let  me  pass,  please,"  she  said,  inconsiderately,  she 
was  in  no  mood  to  be  tolerant  this  morning,  nor  careful 
of  her  words. 

"I'm  not  to  have  a  hearing?" 

"You  are  to  open  the  door.    I  want  to  go  out." 

"You  would  rather  not  have  me  as  a  friend?" 

"It  is  absolutely  indifferent  to  me." 

She  was  so  distracted  by  Sebastian's  position  that 
she  could  not  conciliate,  nor  parley.  The  sordid  vul- 
garity of  the  police  court  proceedings  assumed  quite  an 
exaggerated  importance  in  her  eyes. 


268  SEBASTIAN 

Afterwards  her  social  conscience  told  her  she  had 
been  rude.  It  was  not  necessary  for  Sebastian  to  rub 
it  in,  as  he  did,  frankly,  a  few  days  later.  He  had  only 
heard  Mr.  Hayling's  version,  she  told  him.  But  what 
other  could  she  give?  A  woman  of  sensitive  feeling 
cannot  tell  her  son  that  she  has  had  to  rebuff  a  gallantry. 

The  seance  at  the  police  station,  as  Bob  had  foretold; 
ended  in  both  combatants  being  bound  over  to  keep 
the  peace.  It  was  made  quite  clear  that  the  intruder 
had  at  least  an  equal  right  with  the  boy  to  consider 
himself  a  welcome  visitor  at  the  St.  James's  Place  flat. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  overestimate,  perhaps,  for 
any  one  but  his  mother,  to  understand,  how  Sebastian 
suffered,  when  the  region  of  romance  in  which  he  had 
dwelt  these  weeks  was  suddenly  invaded  and  devas- 
tated by  an  old,  disorderly  population.  And  for  the 
moment,  there  was  no  romance  nor  poetry  left  in  the 
world  for  him,  the  effluvia  of  dead  and  rotting  things 
was  in  his  nostrils. 

The  crisis  was  spiritual  as  well  as  mortal.  He  ac- 
cused himself  of  having  neglected  his  duties  to  his 
mother,  and  to  both  names  he  bore.  If,  in  truth,  he 
had  not  sinned,  as,  in  light  acceptance  and  scoffing,  sin 
was  attributed  to  him,  he  knew  he  had  dwelt  in  evil 
places.  The  depths  of  him  shrank  from  what  he  had 
seen,  and  the  surfaces  suffered  from  what  people  might 
be  saying  of  him.  He  was  shaken  as  if  disaster  had 
overtaken  him,  he  looked  wan,  and  too  fine-drawn. 
He  could  not  let  Vanessa  help  him,  nor  touch  his  open 
wounds.  He  worked  harder  than  ever  in  the  City,  the 
evenings  were  given  over  to  misanthropy. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

JOE  WALLINGFORD,  who  had  never  taken  her  letter 
rejecting  his  offer  of  marriage  as  final,  and  would  never 
so  take  it,  failed  to  understand  what  was  .troubling 
Vanessa. 

He  was,  of  course,  often  in  London,  pursuing  his 
suit  in  his  own  leisurely  but  definite  way,  making 
Vanessa  write  articles  for  him,  interest  herself  in  his 
enterprises,  urge  him  to  greater  seriousness  in  his 
political  aspirations,  or  movements.  It  was  Sebastian 
who  stood  between  him  and  his  desires,  he  knew  that. 

It  could  not  escape  him,  either,  that  not  only  the 
mother,  but  the  son,  now  looked  depressed,  and  out 
of  tune.  Naturally,  a  man  of  his  calibre,  even  had  he 
known  of  it,  would  not  have  taken  the  Pilsenstein  inci- 
dent very  seriously.  It  was  to  business,  therefore,  that 
Joe  attributed  the  causes  of  the  heaviness  in  the  Harley 
Street  atmosphere. 

He  spent  a  whole  evening  trying  to  draw  the  boy 
out.  Sebastian,  weary  of  introspection  and  self-re- 
proach, gladly  talked  of  new  engines,  and  raw  material. 
Joe  was  well  up  in  the  various  pulps,  and  always  in- 
terested in  machinery.  Sebastian  told  Vanessa  after- 
wards that  he  "tapped  the  magnate's  brain."  If  that 
were  so,  there  is  no  doubt  Joe,  quite  consciously,  allowed 
the  spigot  to  remain  in,  and  dropped  his  valuable 

comment. 

269 


270  SEBASTIAN 

"We  had  quite  a  good  evening,  didn't  we?"  Sebas- 
tian said  to  Vanessa,  lingering  in  the  drawing-room 
after  Joe's  departure,  more  like  his  old  self  than  she 
had  seen  him  for  some  time. 

"You  know,  mater,  he  could  be  quite  useful  to  me, 
I  get  things  out  of  him  as  it  is,  he  is  up  to  a  lot  of  busi- 
ness dodges.  He  likes  talking  to  me,  too.  You  see,  I 
have  got  all  the  up-to-date  stuff  at  my  ringers'  ends. 
I  did  not  waste  my  time  abroad.  He  seemed  to  think 
very  well  of  my  new  treatment  of  that  cornstalk  pulp. 
I  am  going  to  produce  paper,  as  thick  as  vellum,  and 
as  light  as  tissue,  see  if  I  don't." 

Sebastian  had  great  recuperative  powers,  and  there 
was  no  doubt  Joe's  visit  had  done  him  good. 

Joe  stayed  in  town  to  see  the  new  buildings,  and 
Sebastian  brought  him  back  the  next  evening  to  tell 
Vanessa  how  much  he  had  been  struck  with  what  he 
had  seen.  The  walls  were  up,  and  much  of  the  ma- 
chinery in  place.  The  old  mill,  with  its  limited  water- 
power,  one  vat,  and  small  accommodation,  was  still 
turning  out  the  Kendall  specialities.  The  old  foreman, 
and  three  other  workmen,  were  still  leisurely  dipping 
their  wire  frames  into  the  bluish  mixture,  stagnant  in 
the  receptacle  that  looked  like  a  horse  trough.  Ap- 
prentices were  making  the  paper,  sheet  by  sheet,  lay- 
ing it  between  felt,  or  blanket,  examining  each  piece 
as  if  time  had  been  no  object.  Joe  had  never  seen 
paper  made  in  this  way,  and  it  had  great  interest  for 
him.  But  Sebastian  was  full  of  the  new  machinery, 
and  was  eager  to  confide  a  secret  that  he  half  felt  he 
should  conceal.  Joe  understood  that,  and  he  put 


SEBASTIAN  271 

cautious  questions.  Sebastian's  own  questions,  how- 
ever, were  more  illuminative  than  his  answers.  He 
was  curious  about  the  books  Joe  published,  the  weight 
and  size  of  them,  the  paper  he  used,  and  where  he 
bought  it. 

Joe  knew  Sebastian  wanted  an  order  from  him.  He 
was  really  ingenuous  in  his  business  methods.  Joe 
wondered  if,  by  any  chance,  by  any  possible  chance, 
Vanessa  was  worrying  at  the  possibility  of  his  becom- 
ing entangled  in  Sebastian's  business  schemes,  or  being 
asked  to  help  him.  Joe  was  very  cautious,  and  wait- 
ing his  time.  He  would  not  expedite  the  moment 
when  Sebastian  might  ask  him  for  help.  Only  Vanessa 
must  not  be  worried,  nor  allowed  to  fear  or  fret. 

Yet  it  seemed  he  was  guessing  wrongly;  for  Sebas- 
tian asked  nothing,  wanted  nothing,  but  praise  and 
appreciation.  Both  of  these  Joe  could  give  freely. 

Stella,  although  she  did  not  like  him,  had  become 
in  a  measure  reconciled  to  Joe  Wallingford  since  David's 
death.  She  had  trafficked  in  love,  and  knew  its  values. 
Joe  might  stand  hi  the  background  of  Vanessa's  life, 
doing  little  kindnesses  for  her,  adding  something  to  it, 
admiring,  or  worshipping,  her  from  the  distance.  So 
long  as  he  did  not  attempt  to  get  close,  Stella  would 
tolerate  him  there.  But  in  speaking  of  him  to  Vanessa 
she  was  for  ever  attempting  to  widen  the  distance,  or 
keep  it  impregnable,  by  contemptuous  word,  or  speech. 
She  made  it  ever  obvious  that  she  looked  down  upon 
him,  and  thought  him  ignorant,  bucolic,  unworthy. 

But  Vanessa  had  no  thought  of  marrying  Joe  Wal- 
lingford. Sebastian  held  her  thoughts  ever  more 


272  SEBASTIAN 

securely.  And  her  friends  would  not  let  her  off  the 
discussion  of  his  latest  escapade. 

Lady  de  Cliffe  spent  a  long  afternoon  in  Harley 
Street,  and  in  the  intervals  of  admiring  the  china,  be- 
littling the  eighteenth-century  prints,  and  appraising 
the  jade,  she  found  time  to  congratulate  Vanessa,  on 
what  she  was  pleased  to  call  her  son's  matinee  at  the 
police  station. 

"He  had  a  splendid  house,  I  hear,  and  such  good 
notices.  It  was  really  clever  of  him  to  be  taken  in  by 
the  Princess  of  Pilsenstein,  so  beautifully  ingenuous. 
You  must  make  him  come  and  see  me,  I  want  to  hear 
all  about  it.  I  wonder  what  he  will  do  next.  You 
are  so  unlike  other  people,  you  and  your  son.  I  was 
afraid  he  was  going  to  be  quite  good,  and  dull.  That 
terrible  woman,  Mrs.  St.  Maur,  told  me  he  had  engaged 
himself  to  his  cousin's  governess,  that  he  meant  to 
marry  her.  Ridiculous  !  I  said  it  was  ridiculous  !  He 
is  much  too  attractive  to  marry.  But  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  he  had  a  short  attack  of  virtue.  The 
Princess  must  have  been  an  exhausting  experience!" 

And  Lord  Saighton  told  Stella,  carelessly: 

"That  boy  of  your  sister's  wants  looking  after.  He 
has  made  a  confounded  young  ass  of  himself  with  the 
Pilsenstein;  it's  a  pity  his  father  died  so  early.  A 
boy  could  not  have  gone  far  wrong  with  a  man  like 
David  Kendall  at  the  back  of  him." 

However  carefully  Stella  conveyed  the  gist  of  this  to 
Vanessa,  it  was  hard  to  bear. 

Mrs.  St.  Maur,  too,  had  an  insatiable  curiosity,  and 
Hilary  St.  Maur  an  inherent  tactlessness.  Vanessa  could 


SEBASTIAN  273 

not  deny  herself  to  callers.  She  had  to  meet  the  situa- 
tion the  proceedings  at  the  police  court  revealed. 

Mrs.  St.  Maur  asked  if  Sebastian  were  going  to  marry 
the  Princess !  She  repeated  anecdotes  about  her.  She 
was,  perhaps,  a  little  spiteful,  at  seeing  Viola's  matri- 
monial chances  imperilled.  Hilary  St.  Maur  said  he 
was  glad  to  say  that  their  Reggie  did  not  care  about 
women !  Vanessa  was  tempted  to  retort  that  perhaps 
that  was  fortunate. 

To  Sebastian,  reaction  came  intermittently.  He 
refused  all  invitations,  he  would  not  go  out  any  more 
of  an  evening.  Like  Reggie  St.  Maur,  he,  too,  for- 
swore women.  He  read  a  great  deal,  theology  held 
him  for  the  moment,  but  that,  too,  soon  palled. 

A  casual  remark  from  Vanessa,  that  whenever  things 
went  awry  with  her,  she  always  found  peace  in  the 
world  of  creative  fiction,  or  in  composing  verse,  started 
him  on  a  new  tack.  There  was  no  doubt  he  had  as 
much  talent  as  his  mother,  or  more.  She  said  so  her- 
self. Then  why  should  he  not  devote  his  evenings  to 
literary  pursuits?  There  was  no  vital  incompatibility 
between  a  paper  merchant  and  a  poet.  He  had  always 
been  good  at  verses,  rhythm  presented  no  difficulties  to 
him  at  any  time. 

The  very  moment  the  idea  came  to  him  he  put  it 
into  execution;  although  it  was  eleven  o'clock  at  night, 
and  before  the  suggestion  had  been  made  he  was  con- 
templating bed. 

He  boasted  to  his  mother,  in  the  morning,  that  he 
had  thought  of  a  subject,  began,  finished  and  polished 
it  off,  in  less  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour ! 


274  SEBASTIAN 

"You  know,  mater,"  he  said,  "that  is  almost  a 
record.  It  was  under  the  forty-seven  minutes  by  the 
pater's  watch,  and  you  know  how  he  always  swore  by 
that.  It  just  came  to  me,  as  fast  as  I  could  write  it. 
What  does  one  get  for  a  sonnet?  A  tenner,  or  fiver? 
Take  it  at  the  lowest  figure,  and  let  us  reckon  it  at  an 
hour,  it  means  forty  pounds  a  day.  You  have  never 
made  anything  like  that,  have  you?" 

She  admitted  that  she  never  had. 

The  Sebastian  who  spent  the  next  few  evenings  at 
the  writing-table  in  the  corner  of  the  drawing-room  was 
still  a  boy.  This  quality  of  youth  was  the  deodoriser 
which  purified  him  so  quickly  of  the  past.  Vanessa 
took  pains  to  conceal  from  him  that  the  quality  of 
literary  work  counts  more  highly  than  the  speed  at 
which  it  is  produced. 

Sebastian  gave  her  a  rhymed  version  of  the  corre- 
spondence column  of  a  lady's  paper,  several  short 
stories,  and  the  first  chapter  of  his  autobiography,  all 
within  a  fortnight.  With  infinite  difficulty  Vanessa 
succeeded  in  placing  one  of  the  short  stories.  It  had 
been  necessary  to  improve  the  literary  form,  and  that 
had  been  a  labour  of  love  for  her.  But  Sebastian  up- 
braided her: 

"I  consider  you've  spoilt  it.  I  suppose  that  is  why 
the  others  were  not  snapped  up.  You  see,  mater,  your 
style  and  mine  are  so  different.  You  labour  your 
stories,  and  I  just  dash  off  mine.  It's  Impressionism, 
that  is  my  school.  If  you  do  not  mind,  for  the  future, 
when  I  give  you  my  things  to  sell,  I  would  rather  not 
have  a  word  altered." 


SEBASTIAN  275 

Sebastian  bore  failure  badly.  And  he  was  too  sharp 
for  Vanessa  to  be  able  to  conceal  from  him  that  his 
output  was  not  marketable. 

He  conceived  a  bad  opinion  of  editors,  and  a  worse 
one  of  literary  agents.  He  discovered  the  incompetency 
of  both : 

"You  have  only  got  to  give  either  of  them  some- 
thing a  little  out  of  the  way,  something  with  a  dash  of 
originality  about  it,  for  them  to  jib  at  it  altogether," 
he  complained.  "You  know,  yourself,  that  telephone 
story  of  mine,  when  the  line  got  entangled,  and  the 
Johnny  found  himself  switched  on  to  Hell,  talking  to  a 
woman  he  had  known  when  she  was  alive,  was  abso- 
lutely new.  You  laughed  like  anything,  when  I  read  it 
you." 

She  laughed  again. 

"But  I  begged  you  not  to  send  it  to  The  Evangelist!" 

"That  is  where  you  are  all  such  a  narrow-minded 
lot,  all  you  literary  people.  It  may  have  been  lurid, 
but  it  was  absolutely  moral." 

Sebastian  said  he  should  not  write  any  more,  until 
literature  was  on  a  very  different  footing  in  England. 
He  lost  spirits  over  it;  business,  too,  seemed  trying 
him  beyond  his  strength,  or  perhaps  it  was  the  spring 
weather.  Anyway,  Vanessa  knew  him  restless  and 
feverish  at  nights,  languid  in  the  mornings,  exhausted 
in  the  evenings,  and  took  quick  alarm.  She  sent  for 
Dr.  Gifford,  for  Sebastian  acknowledged  that  his  intel- 
lectual and  physical  vigour  were  both  at  ebb  tide. 
With  Dr.  Gifford  he  played  the  tired  roue: 

"I've  gone  the  pace  too  fast.    I've  burned  the  candle 


276  SEBASTIAN 

at  both  ends.  After  all,  doctor,  it  isn't  every  fellow 
under  two-and-twenty  who  has  seen  and  done  as  much 
as  I  have." 

He  went  over  his  Continental  and  American  experi- 
ences, he  said  he  had  built  up  a  big  business,  and  he 
would  have  boasted,  had  not  something  quizzical  in  the 
doctor's  eyes  restrained  him,  of  how  wide  and  deep  was 
his  knowledge  of  human  frailty. 

It  was  certain  that  all  this  vaunted  strenuousness 
of  life  and  labour  had  a  temporary  constitutional 
effect.  Dr.  Gifford,  with  David  in  his  mind,  was  per- 
emptory in  ordering  change  of  air  and  scene,  complete 
rest,  a  strict  regime,  and  the  simple  life. 

Sebastian  said,  flatly,  he  would  not  stir;  his  hands 
were  full  in  the  City,  he  was  in  no  mood  for  a  holiday, 
he  would  stay  where  he  was,  but  he  did  not  mind  swal- 
lowing the  beastly  maltine.  Sebastian  was  rather  proud 
of  his  breakdown  in  health,  and  made  the  most  of  it. 

"I  have  lost  nearly  seven  pounds,"  he  told  Bice. 
"I  wouldn't  let  the  mater  know  for  the  world.  I 
never  sleep  the  night  through,  my  cough  keeps  me 
awake.  I  suppose  it's  the  beginning  of  the  end.  I 
don't  care,  I've  had  a  good  time.  It's  hard  luck  on 
the  mater,  but  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  what  is  the 
odds?" 

Bice  could  not  bear  it,  simply  could  not  bear  that 
Sebastian  should  pine  away.  He  might  think  it  was 
consumption,  she  knew  it  was  love !  She  put  her 
pride  in  her  pocket,  she  could  not  believe  that  Pleasey 
would  hold  out  if  she  knew  how  it  was  with  him.  Gen- 
erous and  unselfish  herself,  she  honestly  believed  that 


SEBASTIAN  277 

Pleasey  had  given  Sebastian  up  because  she  deemed  it 
best  for  him ;  because  of  the  disparity  of  years,  and  the 
difference  in  position.  She  had  not  been  in  the  secret 
of  their  final  parting,  but  she  saw  its  effect  on  Sebastian, 
and  thought  Pleasey,  too,  might  be  unhappy. 

She  went  by  train  to  Wimbledon,  she  walked  to 
Cleeve  Row,  a  mean  street  of  lodging  houses.  The 
shabby,  sordid  poverty  did  not  repel  her,  as  later  on 
it  repelled  Vanessa.  She  was  full  of  her  mission,  she 
thought  of  nothing  else. 

And  Pleasey  was  glad  to  see  her.  There  was  no 
doubt  Pleasey  was  glad.  She  had  just  had  her  head 
washed,  all  her  fair  hair  was  hanging  over  her  shoulders, 
and  she  sat  before  the  fire  drying  it.  She  was  all  alone, 
her  mother  had  gone  out  with  Zuley;  her  father  was 
away.  Pleasey  was  wavering  now  in  her  belief  at  her 
wisdom  in  having  left  Wey mouth  Street.  Certainly 
when  Mr.  Hayling  asked  her  to  drive  or  dine  with  him, 
she  was  free  to  go.  She  had  had  some  wonderful 
hours.  But  Mr.  Hayling  was  intermittent  in  his  atten- 
tions, indefinite  in  his  love-making,  there  was  often  a 
long  hiatus  between  his  visits.  And  in  all  the  intervals 
there  was  the  grinding  perpetual  poverty,  the  humilia- 
tions at  the  hands  of  the  exacting  landlady.  She  was 
exacting  in  requiring  her  rent  to  be  paid  punctually, 
and  both  Pleasey  and  her  parents  resented  this  attitude 
of  hers!  Pleasey  had  to  listen  to  her  mother's  plaint 
at  the  poor  response  to  Ambrose  Pleyden-Carr's  begging 
letters;  stimulants  were  essential  to  solace  the  disap- 
pointments. Always  there  were  Zuley's  vagaries  to  be 
kept  under  control.  Zuley  was  not  sufficiently  imbecile 


278  SEBASTIAN 

to  be  locked  up,  nor  sufficiently  normal  to  be  left  un- 
guarded. They  were  all  four,  shiftless,  idle,  unpractical 
people.  Pleasey's  care  for  her  appearance  was  a  sav- 
ing grace;  the  others  were  self-neglectful,  slovenly. 

Bice  saw  nothing,  stopped  to  see  nothing;  she  was 
full  of  her  subject. 

"I  know  you  only  left  him  because  you  thought  it  was 
for  his  good;  you  will  have  to  come  back.  He  is  going 
into  a  decline,  nobody  but  me  knows  what  is  really 
the  matter  with  him,  and  the  only  thing  that  can  save 
him." 

"Does  he  know  you  have  come  to  me?  Are  you 
sure  he  cares  about  me  still?  What  about  that  story 
I  read  in  the  paper?  I  thought  he  had  forgotten 
poor  me." 

"He  never  cared  about  anybody  else,  the  Princess 
was  nothing  to  him ;  it  was  only  because  she  was  lonely, 
and  in  trouble,  that  he  spent  so  much  time  with  her. 
He  was  just  good  to  her,  nothing  else,  he  was  always  like 
that." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do,  if  he  did  not  ask  you  to  come  to 
me,  nor  say  anything?" 

"/  know;  you  must  believe  I  know  my  own  cousin. 
He  is  just  pining  after  you,  that  is  what  he  is  doing, 
pining." 

Pleasey  was  only  half  reluctant  to  be  persuaded  Se- 
bastian still  idolised  her.  She  had  not  been  touched 
by  it,  but  she  realised  that  he  was  unlike  any  other  boy, 
or  man,  whom  she  had  met.  Mr.  Hayling  suited  her 
better.  But  then  Mr.  Hayling  was  so  indefinite.  Bice 
was  certain  to  carry  her  point  with  Pleasey.  for  she  was 


SEBASTIAN  279 

deeply  in  earnest.  She  would  have  shed  her  own  heart's 
blood  for  Sebastian ;  but  it  was  Pleasey,  alone,  who  could 
cure  him. 

"I  can't  come  back  with  you  to-night,  it  is  impossible. 
I  must  wait  until  mother  comes  home.  And  then  my 
hair  is  not  dry,  it  takes  such  a  long  time  to  dry,"  pro- 
tested Pleasey,  irresolutely. 

"But  I  must  take  back  a  message." 

"Tell  him  I  am  sorry  to  hear  he  is  ill." 

"Give  me  a  note  for  him." 

"Shall  I?" 

Pleasey  was  uncertain,  but  Bice  had  no  uncertainty, 
she  found  pencil  and  paper,  she  stood  over  her  until  it 
was  done.  Pleasey  would  promise  nothing,  bind  herself 
to  nothing.  But  Bice  was  sure  she  had  been  interested, 
she  asked  so  many  questions,  she  almost  promised  she 
would  come  back  to  Weymouth  Street,  temporarily,  at 
least.  She  would  spend  a  few  days  there,  to-morrow, 
next  day,  next  week,  sometime. 

Pleasey  hesitated,  temporised.  But  Bice  went  back, 
happy  in  the  note  she  carried  for  Sebastian,  convinced 
that  it  would  benefit  his  health. 

Pleasey,  whose  hair  had  been  washed,  and  was  pres- 
ently waved,  for  the  delectation  of  Mr.  Robert  Hayling, 
was  not  disappointed  in  her  expectation  of  seeing  him. 
For  what  else  had  she  manoeuvred  that  her  mother 
should  be  absent  all  these  hours? 

He  drove  up  to  the  door,  in  his  forty  horse-power 
Panhard,  and  disentangled  his  length  from  the  car, 
slowly,  and  to  the  entertainment  of  the  whole  mean 
street.  His  big  coat  became  him,  it  was  very  well 


280  SEBASTIAN 

cut,  and  hung  loose  and  wide,  straight  from  his  shoulders ; 
he  wore  no  unsightly  goggles. 

"Miss  Pleyden-Carr  at  home?"  he  asked  the  little 
maid-servant. 

She  heard  it  across  the  narrow  passage,  in  the  stuffy 
little  parlour;  she  thrilled  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  as 
she  would  never  thrill  for  Sebastian. 

Now  he  was  in  the  room,  her  colour  rose,  her  pulses 
bounded.  His  greeting  may  have  lacked  respect.  Who 
wants  respect?  Why  should  he  not  kiss  her,  he  had 
done  so  before? 

"Come  out  for  a  drive?  I  am  in  the  big  car,  it's  a 
fine  evening,  and  we  can  go  to  Hampton  Court,  dine  at 
the  Mitre,  or  push  on  to.  Skindles,  we  could  do  Maiden- 
head in  an  hour,  and  it  isn't  seven  yet.  Everybody  out  ? 
how  did  you  manage  it?  Don't  keep  me  waiting,  I 
haven't  stopped  the  car,  I  don't  want  the  petrol  to  run 
out  halfway." 

"I  won't  be  a  minute." 

But  she  was.  Pleasey  must  cover  the  light  hair  with 
a  bonnet,  or  hood ;  the  lace  inside,  the  very  latest  fashion, 
borrowed  from  the  eighteenth  century,  framed  her  small 
face.  She  had  on  a  big  coat  Bob  had  given  her  in  the 
autumn,  for  just  such  excursions  as  these. 

"What  a  devil  of  a  time  you've  been.  Another  two 
minutes,  and  I  should  have  started  without  you.  I  am 
going  to  drive,  and  you  can  sit  beside  me.  The  boy  will 
go  inside.  Coming  back,  I'll  let  him  take  the  wheel." 

Pleasey's  imagination  could  picture  that  drive  back, 
in  the  dark.  Bob  would  be  kind  to  her,  very  kind.  She 
had  another  little  shudder-sweet  thrill,  of  expectation, 


SEBASTIAN  281 

perhaps  of  remembrance;  she  was  sure  he  was  fond  of 
her. 

He  talked  of  the  car  all  the  way  down.  At  dinner  he 
made  her  drink  more  champagne  than  was  good  for  her. 
He  was  quite  as  kind  as  she  anticipated,  on  the  way 
home,  kinder  even.  She  had  no  secrets  from  Bob,  she 
told  him  all  about  Bice's  visit,  and  that  Sebastian  had 
broken  down  in  health.  He  said  she  was  very  sweet, 
and  he  was  not  a  bit  surprised  to  hear  that  Sebastian  had 
been  in  love  with  her.  He  said  Sebastian  was  only  a 
boy;  he  was  a  man,  and  knew  a  man's  way  of  loving. 
And  he  taught  her  something  of  what  he  meant,  in  an 
after-dinner  mood.  She  was  an  apt  pupil,  and  it  was  not 
a  first  lesson. 

She  arrived  home  late,  her  lips  very  hot,  her  heart 
quite  tempestuous,  feeling  all  the  emotion  of  which  she 
was  capable,  very  excited.  She  had  quite  forgotten  her 
note  to  Sebastian. 

But  Bob  Hayling  had  had  too  many  after-dinner 
moods,  in  his  time,  for  this  to  have  made  any  particular 
impression  upon  him.  The  only  memory  he  had  of  it 
the  next  morning;  beyond  the  vague  one  that  Pleasey 
had  been  very  responsive,  and  he  was  not  quite  sure  that 
he  would  risk  another  similar  evening;  was  the  news 
she  had  told  him  of  Sebastian  Kendall's  health. 

Robert  Hayling  had  taken  his  own  way  of  meeting 
the  competition  that  the  boy's  active  business  powers 
set  going.  His  partner  cursed  the  young  jackanapes 
who  cut  prices,  competed  actively,  and  made  them  look 
to  their  supremacy  in  the  trade.  But  Bob  did  no  curs- 
ing, he  thought  Sebastian  would  soon  tire  of  business. 


282  SEBASTIAN 

At  twenty-one,  pleasure  comes  before  business,  if  one 
knew  where  to  look  for  pleasure.  That  was  the  job 
Mr.  Robert  Hayling  thought  would  suit  him  down  to 
the  ground,  teaching  young  Kendall  where  to  look  for 
pleasure!  But  Sebastian  had  disappointed  him,  quite 
seriously  disappointed  him;  he  had  been  more  active 
than  ever  in  business  lately ;  there  was  no  doubt  he  was 
making  himself  felt.  His  partner  could  not  speak  of  P. 
and  A.  Kendall  without  execration.  If  the  boy  con- 
tinued to  stand  outside  the  "Association,"  to  cut  prices, 

and  boast  he  was  an  "Independent,"  why  then 

Bob  cut  himself  shaving  in  the  mere  contemplation  of 
what  might  occur. 

But  Pleasey  said  the  boy  was  ill,  had  developed  a 
tendency  to  consumption,  had  been  ordered  to  strike 
work.  Quite  a  brilliant  idea  struck  Mr.  Hayling,  as  he 
completed  his  toilette.  And  he  surveyed  himself  in  the 
glass  with  satisfaction,  notwithstanding  that  little  cut. 
He  was  attractive  to  women,  it  was  absurd  of  Sebastian's 
mother  not  to  realise  it. 

He  put  on  a  frock-coat,  and  high  hat,  a  grey  tie  that 
toned  with  his  grey  hair,  and  notwithstanding  the  dissi- 
pated lines  about  his  clean-shaven  face,  and  his  pallor, 
he  thought  he  cut  a  good  figure. 

The  morning  he  gave  up  to  business.  In  the  after- 
noon he  would  pay  a  visit  to  Harley  Street.  He  saw 
Sebastian  in  his  office,  and  made  a  suggestion  to  him. 
He  told  his  partner,  casually,  that  he  thought  of  taking 
a  few  weeks  off,  now,  instead  of  in  the  summer. 

"If  that  cursed  young  fool  in  Queen  Victoria  Street 
doesn't  mend  his  ways,  there  will  be  no  holiday  for  any 
of  us,"  his  partner  growled  in  response. 


SEBASTIAN  283 

"I  thought  of  taking  him  with  me,"  Bob  answered, 
coolly. 

"Do,  and  break  his  neck,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"I  don't  suppose  there  will  be  many  of  his  plans  I 
shan't  know  by  the  time  we  get  back/'  Bob  went  on. 
He  bantered  the  other: 

"You  go  on  undercutting,  and  cursing.  Perhaps 
it  does  you  good,  eases  your  congested  liver.  But  that 
is  not  my  method,  and  I  bet  you  mine  is  the  better. 
Suaviter  in  modo,  that's  the  ticket.  If  I  pull  off  my  little 
scheme,  we  shall  have  the  field  to  ourselves  again  in  a 
few  weeks.  You  can  get  that  Carter  contract  through 
whilst  I  am  away,  I  will  give  you  the  argument;  and  I 
should  not  be  surprised  if  you  got  Sadler's,  too,  if  you  go 
the  right  way  to  work." 

"At  half  the  profit  we  used  to  make  before  David 
Kendall  died,  and  the  whole  trade  became  disorganised ! " 

"How  much  of  the  money  David  Kendall  left,  do  you 
suppose  is  in  the  business  now?  " 

"How  should  I  know?" 

"You  shouldn't.  You  should  not  know  anything; 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  you  don't.  But  those  new  buildings 
must  have  run  away  with  a  pot  of  money." 

"I  know  as  well  as  you  do  that  he  is  up  to  the  hilt." 

"Well,  drive  the  hilt  in  whilst  he  is  away.  He  may  drop 
a  bit  of  money  at  Aix.  Anyway  I  am  going  to  teach  him 
how  to  take  the  bank  at  baccarat.  He  will  like  to  be 
the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  playing  the  millionaire." 

But  he  counted  his  chickens  prematurely. 

Certainly  the  suggestion  he  had  dropped  to  Sebastian 
was  not  unacceptable  in  Harley  Street. 


284  SEBASTIAN 

Sebastian  had  been  ordered  open  air,  cessation  from 
work,  change  of  scene  and  surroundings.  Mr.  Hayling, 
it  appeared,  had  seen  him  that  morning,  and  heard  of 
the  prescription.  Well,  he  was  just  off  on  a  motor  tour, 
through  France  and  Switzerland.  He  would  not  move 
in  the  matter  without  first  hearing  it  was  agreeable  to 
Mrs.  Kendall.  Was  it  agreeable  to  her  that  Sebastian 
should  accompany  him,  should  be  his  guest  for  the  tour  ? 

It  seemed  as  if  a  way  was  really  opening  out  of  the 
difficulty.  For  Sebastian  came  in  before  Bob  left, 
languid,  with  that  new  little  cough  that  he  had  devel- 
oped, and  that  tried  Vanessa  so  terribly.  And  Sebastian 
said  he  had  changed  his  mind  about  going  away.  Per- 
haps Gifford  was  right;  he  did  feel  awfully  run  down, 
and  a  run  across  the  Continent  in  the  new  car  would  suit 
him  better  than  any  other  sort  of  holiday. 

Vanessa  said  she  must  see  if  Dr.  Gifford  approved. 
But  after  Bob  had  left,  with  the  understanding  that  he 
should  have  a  definite  answer  to-morow,  she  demurred  a 
little  at  the  obligation !  Sebastian  looked  at  it  in  quite 
a  different  light. 

"There  is  no  obligation.  I  am  a  linguist,  and  he  is 
not ;  an  experienced  traveller,  whilst  he  has  hardly  been 
further  than  Margate." 

It  seemed  useless  to  argue,  she  had  no  legitimate 
excuse  to  urge.  She  did  not  like  Robert  Hayling,  but 
then  as  Sebastian  very  pertinently  put  before  her,  it 
was  a  question  of  health.  This  holiday  the  boy  would 
take,  or  none. 

And  Dr.  Gifford  was  quite  satisfied  when  his  opinion 
was  asked. 


SEBASTIAN  285 

"There  is  nothing  seriously  the  matter  with  the  boy," 
he  said,  "he  is  as  sound  as  a  bell,  organically.  That 
cough  you  are  fidgeting  about  is  nervous.  His  mind  has 
outstripped  his  growth,  and  he  is  a  little  too  young  for 
his  responsibilities,  a  little  too  young  to  be  quite  so  much 
his  own  master;  that  is  all  that's  wrong.  There  is 
nothing  better  than  motoring  as  a  nerve  tonic  in  such 
cases;  let  him  go.  Your  mind  can  be  quite  easy.  Why 
don't  you  send  his  cousin  with  him  ?  She  would  look 
after  him,  and  see  he  did  not  get  fresh  cold,  or  over- 
exert himself.  And  it  would  do  her  no  harm  to  have  a 
change.  She  hangs  about  her  mother  too  much,  leads 
altogether  too  confined  a  life." 

If  it  were  a  conspiracy,  everybody  must  have  been  in  it. 
Stella  would  not  allow  Bice  to  join  the  expedition,  if 
only  Mr.  Hay  ling  and  Sebastian  were  of  the  party. 
Pleasey  seemed  like  an  after-thought,  but  if  Pleasey 
would  accompany  them,  Stella's  maternal  solicitude 
would  be  satisfied. 

Pleasey  had  written  that  little  sympathetic  note  to 
Sebastian,  and  he  had  taken  it  very  gratefully,  as  a 
great  concession  from  her.  Perhaps  it  made  him  think 
himself  worse  than  he  was,  perhaps  it  had  something  to 
do  with  his  sudden  decision  to  obey  orders,  to  knock  off 
work.  After  all,  there  was  one  kind,  sweet  girl  in  the 
world !  He  kissed  the  note,  he  slept  with  it  under  his 
pillow.  He  did  not  tell  his  mother  he  had  received  it. 

Then  came  Dr.  Gifford's  suggestion  that  Bice  should 
accompany  him  and  Bob.  A  hint  was  whispered  to  him, 
by  Bice,  that  seemed  too  wonderful  to  be  possible. 

"Mummy  won't  let  me  go  alone.    She  would  let  me  go 


286  SEBASTIAN 

if  I  had  a  chaperon,  if  —  if  Pleasey  would  come  with 
me." 

"But  she  wouldn't  —  it  isn't  possible !" 

"I'll  make  her,"  Bice  promised  confidently.  There 
followed  two  or  three  days  of  great  excitement,  hope  and 
fear,  with  the  result  that  Pleasey,  after  all,  proved  per- 
suadable. She  had  one  short  interview  with  Sebastian, 
which  Bice  engineered.  She  had  rather  been  without  it, 
she  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  him.  But  she  bore  her- 
self well.  He  was  very  agitated,  and  found  words  with 
difficulty.  She  had  nothing  to  say  about  her  dismissal 
of  him.  They  were  going  to  be  friends,  nothing  but 
friends,  he  must  not  agitate  himself,  she  had  heard  he 
had  been  ill.  Bice  saw  they  were  not  interrupted  too 
soon,  but  indeed  they  were  both  glad  of  interruption. 
Sebastian's  heart  was  too  full  for  words,  Pleasey's 
too  empty. 

At  first,  when  the  plan  of  a  bachelor  trip  was  altered, 
and  it  was  settled  that  Sebastian  was  not  to  be  his  guest, 
but  one  of  a  party,  each  paying  their  own  expenses, 
Mr.  Hayling  had  bucked,  he  had  nearly  thrown  over  the 
whole  thing.  He  did  not  know  Bice,  and  he  was  not 
prepared  to  spend  a  month  with  Pleasey.  It  would  be  a 
bore  to  drag  two  women  about,  it  was  not  at  all  what 
he  intended.  He  had  meant  to  push  through,  as  quickly 
as  he  could,  to  Aix-les-Bains,  where  baccarat  and  bad 
women  might  be  relied  upon  to  keep  Sebastian  from 
meddling  with  contracts,  until  the  crucial  moment  had 
passed  when  Messrs.  Carter  and  Messrs.  Sadler  made 
their  arrangements  for  the  year. 

But  Bob  Hayling  was  only  a  lath  and  plaster  Mephis- 


SEBASTIAN  287 

topheles.  Bice  diverted  half  his  intentions,  and  put  his 
plot  out  of  his  head,  when  Sebastian  had  her  down  in  the 
City  to  lunch,  and  began  to  discuss  the  route.  She  was 
full  of  the  pleasures  of  the  trip,  grateful  to  Mr.  Hayling 
for  having  made  it  possible,  very  attractive  in  her  enthusi- 
asm. 

Bice  was  no  longer  abnormally  small,  although  she  had 
not  grown  beyond  five  feet  two.  The  whilom  disorder 
of  her  curly  head  was  reduced,  now  that  she  was  grown  up, 
to  reasonable  dimensions.  Her  skin  was  soft  ivory,  but 
the  dark  expressive  eyes  and  long  lashes,  the  red  lips  and 
fluctuating  colour  lit  up  its  shadows.  When  she  smiled, 
the  lovely  row  of  teeth,  the  air  of  animation,  and  one  little 
dimple,  made  the  face  extraordinarily  attractive.  She 
was  small,  but  all  her  proportions  were  perfect,  from 
dainty  feet  to  rounded  waist. 

Bob's  tastes  were  eclectic,  and  before  that  lunch  party 
had  drawn  to  a  close  in  the  crowded  City  restaurant,  he 
had  forgotten  he  had  ever  doubted  the  charm  of  the 
arrangement  that  would  give  him  two  attractive  girls  to 
drive,  and  a  new  sensation  to  enjoy.  Bice  was  a  new 
sensation  to  Bob  Hayling,  younger,  fresher,  prettier  than 
any  one  he  had  met  for  years. 

"I  am  awfully  surprised  you  think  Bice  so  good- 
looking,"  Sebastian  said.  "Of  course  I  am  fond  of  her, 
we  have  always  been  great  pals.  But  I  never  looked 
upon  her  as  a  pretty  girl,  there  is  nothing  of  her,  and  then 
she  is  so  dark." 

"Tastes  differ."  Bob  laughed,  he  was  quite  content 
Sebastian  should  not  admire  his  cousin.  Bob  was  fresh 
from  another  amorous  interview  with  Pleasey ;  he  was 


288  SEBASTIAN 

glad  there  was  something  new  in  front  of  him.  Ad- 
venture to  the  adventurous ! 

Stella  and  Vanessa,  together  at  the  door  in  Weymouth 
Street  to  give  the  motor  party  a  send-off,  commended 
their  children  to  Bob's  care : 

"I'll  take  care  of  them  all,"  Bob  said.  "You  won't 
know  Sebastian  when  he  comes  back.  He  will  weigh 
twelve  stone,  and  be  the  colour  of  beet-root." 

"Take  care  of  my  Mummy,"  were  Bice's  last  words  to 
her  aunt. 

"And  you  of  my  Sebastian,"  was  Vanessa's  reply. 

But  no  one  asked  that  Pleasey  should  be  cared  for. 
Sebastian  silently  vowed  himself  to  it.  If  she  would  only 
let  him !  It  had  all  begun  over  again  with  him,  his 
heart  leaped  under  his  coat  when  he  caught  her  eye. 
She  was  quite  conscious  of  it,  she  was  even  glad  that  Mr. 
Hayling  should  see  it. 


CHAPTER  XX 

FOR  once  Vanessa  was  glad  of  Sebastian's  absence. 
She  needed  a  breathing  space,  she  had  been  living  in  the 
boy's  strenuous  life,  she  had  had  no  room  for  her  own. 

Neither  during  her  husband's  lifetime,  nor  since 
Sebastian  had  taken  the  reins,  had  Vanessa  any  personal 
acquaintance  with  the  business  in  Queen  Victoria 
Street,  nor  the  Kendall  mills.  She  was  the  more  sur- 
prised, therefore,  when  three  weeks  after  the  motor 
party  had  started,  she  received  an  urgent  letter,  sent  by 
hand,  asking  her  if  she  would  see  Mr.  Jones.  She  knew 
vaguely  that  Mr.  Jones  was  head  clerk  to  Sebastian,  as 
he  had  been  to  his  father.  Mr.  Jones  had  been  over 
thirty  years  with  the  firm,  she  had  heard  that,  and  that 
he  was  one  of  the  few  who  had  survived  the  new  regime. 
But  she  was  astonished  at  his  asking  for  an  interview 
with  her.  Her  mind  leaped  to  a  quick  conclusion  of 
illness,  domestic  trouble,  or  the  inheritance  of  a  fortune. 
It  seemed  incredible  that  he  should  apply  to  her  on  the 
affairs  of  the  firm. 

From  the  beginning  the  interview  oppressed  and 
puzzled  her. 

Mr.  Jones  was  an  elderly  man,  unused  to  drawing- 
rooms,  nervous,  embarrassed,  finding  speech  difficult. 
She  endeavoured  to  set  him  at  ease,  but  her  social  sense 
failed  to  respond  to  his  particular  needs ;  he  declined  tea, 
u  289 


290  SEBASTIAN 

and  would  not  part  with  his  hat.  She  could  not  tell 
him  how  long  Mr.  Sebastian  intended  to  be  away,  nor 
exactly  where  he  was.  It  had  been  understood  between 
them  that  he  was  to  be  quite  free,  he  would  wire  from 
time  to  time ;  no  news  meant  that  he  was  all  right. 

But  Mr.  Jones,  floundering  in  some  technical  phrases 
about  "bills,"  was  evidently  seriously  perturbed  by  this 
indefiniteness.  Vanessa  really  tried  to  understand  what 
he  was  endeavouring  to  convey  to  her ;  but  she  had  not 
the  slightest  notion  what  "discounting  bills"  might 
mean.  If  Kendalls  had  "drawn  on"  any  one,  or  any 
one  had  "drawn  on"  Kendalls,  it  was  equally  enigmatic. 
And  why  the  words  "  at  sight"  or  "  at  sixty  days  "  should 
be  reiterated,  and  why  Mr.  Jones  should  attach  so  much 
importance  to  them,  she  had  not  the  first  idea. 

She  was  very  kind  and  reassuring : 

"Of  course,  if  anything  is  owing,  it  must  be  paid,"  she 
said,  peremptorily.  There  was  no  doubt  about  that. 
How  it  was  to  be  paid,  was  another  matter.  Surely 
there  was  money  in  the  bank ;  there  was  always  money 
in  the  bank. 

"  Have  you  not  the  power  to  sign  ?  Did  Mr.  Sebastian 
forget  to  leave  you  a  cheque?  If  you  will  tell  me  the 
amount,  I  can  let  you  have  it  from  my  private  account, 
until  he  returns .  Will  that  do  ?  Is  that  what  you  want  ? ' ' 

"There  are  bills  of  lading,  and  the  dock  charges.  Mr. 
Sebastian  has  a  large  consignment  of " 

"Really,  Mr.  Jones,  you  must  not  give  me  detail,  I 
understand  nothing  whatever  about  business.  What  is 
the  amount  you  are  short  ?  For  what  do  you  want  me  to 
draw  a  cheque?" 


SEBASTIAN  291 

But  it  was  impossible  to  get  Mr.  Jones  to  answer  a 
simple  question.  He  would  explain,  and  be  apologetic, 
and  beg  her  to  look  into  matters  for  herself.  He 
succeeded  in  making  her  slightly  uncomfortable.  And 
when  at  last  he  named  a  sum  that  would  "  tide  them  over" 
until  Mr.  Sebastian  returned,  she  was  more  than  uncom- 
fortable, she  was  almost  alarmed;  she  had  no  such 
amount  lying  to  her  credit.  But  debt  was  impossible,  of 
course. 

Mr.  Jones  ventured  to  suggest  "securities."  It  was 
he  who  explained  to  her  that  these  might  be  available. 

She  was  a  very  clever  woman,  even  practical,  but  she 
had  no  experience  in  money  matters,  they  had  not 
interested  her. 

"  If  you  will  tell  me  what  you  want  me  to  do,"  was  her 
final  summary,  "I  will  do  it.  Must  I  see  a  lawyer,  or 
what?  Of  course  I  have  securities,  my  father's  estate. 
I  believe  that  they  are  at  my  bankers',  I  am  not  quite  sure. 
Is  there  any  immediate  hurry  ?  " 

She  must  ask  some  one  else.  Mr.  Jones  was  much  too 
flurried,  and  uncertain,  to  be  of  any  use  to  her,  it  was 
she  who  reassured  him.  Whatever  money  was  wanted, 
would,  of  course,  be  found.  He  would  hear  from  Mr. 
Sebastian  in  a  day  or  two,  without  doubt ;  in  the  mean- 
time she  would  see  her  lawyer,  or  her  bank  manager. 

She  sent  him  away  considerably  relieved.  He  did  not 
know  her  resources,  but,  at  least,  he  had  her  word  that  •> 
the  six  thousand  pounds  that  was  required  on  the  eighth, 
would  be  there.  He  was  not  very  resourceful,  Kendalls 
had  not  had  to  finesse  in  finance  in  the  days  when  he  was 
growing  up  in  their  employ.  "Financing"  spelt  ruin  to 


292  SEBASTIAN 

him,  the  boy  had  already  left  the  old  clerk  far  behind  in 
his  way  of  running  the  business.  Sebastian  was  alto- 
gether modern,  and  full  of  expedients.  But  he  ought  to 
have  realised  that  his  subordinates  were  none  of  them 
trained  to  take  his  place. 

Vanessa  did  the  only  thing  that  quickly  occurred  to 
her.  She  drove  to  her  bank,  and  asked  to  see  the  mana- 
ger. He  was  very  courteous,  very  courteous  indeed, 
but  grave  when  he  heard  the  amount  she  required.  Of 
course  there  was  no  difficulty  about  it.  He  sent  for  the 
securities  book.  She  had  stock  against  her  name 
amounting  to  considerably  more,  to  twelve  or  fourteen 
thousand  pounds,  in  fact.  And  six  or  eight  hundred 
pounds  on  her  current  account.  They  would  advance 
her  the  amount,  but  .  .  . 

There  were  a  great  many  bewildering  "buts."  And 
even  although  she  disregarded  them,  insisting  on  her 
point  that  she  must  have  the  money  at  once,  signing  all 
that  was  required  of  her,  and  urging  expedition,  she  was 
nevertheless  not  thoroughly  easy  in  her  mind. 

She  sent  Mr.  Jones  the  cheque  she  had  promised  him, 
by  the  date  he  had  named;  his  mind  was  relieved. 
Hers,  she  thought,  would  be  better  for  a  little  talk  with  a 
business  man.  She  was  sure  she  could  learn  the  language 
Mr.  Jones  had  talked,  penetrate  its  mysteries;  she  only 
wanted  a  teacher. 

There  was  Joe  Wallingford.  He  was  really  the  only 
business  man  she  knew  well.  All  her  other  friends  were 
literary,  or  artistic. 

She  did  not  accuse  herself  of  disingenuousness  when 
she  wrote  to  Joe  Wallingford,  asking  him  to  come  to  her 
when  he  was  next  in  town. 


SEBASTIAN  293 

She  was  still  satisfied  that  she  had  no  arri&re  pensee, 
that  there  was  no  danger  in  the  position,  when  already 
the  next  day  he  was  in  the  drawing-room. 

She  could  not  have  imagined  she  would  be  so  glad  to 
see  him.  It  was  water  after  long  drought  to  talk  of 
anything  but  Sebastian.  She  forgot  why  she  had  sent 
for  him,  and  of  what  she  wanted  to  talk.  For,  at  once, 
they  were  on  the  easy  terms  of  intimacy  and  com- 
panionship. The  recess  was  over,  and  Joe  told  her  he 
intended^terrernain  in  London  for  the  present.  He  had 
used  the  time  well  whilst  Parliament  had  been  sitting. 

y\.  have  noted  that.  You  have  drifted  so  gradually 
from  free  trade  to  colonial  preference,  and  from  colonial 
^reference  to  a  differential  tariff,  that  your  readers  are 
hardly  yet  aware  that  your  port  is  Protection !" 

He  said  her  articles  had  been  of  value,  he  wished  she 
had  written  more.  There  were  journalistic  differences 
to  decide. 

\  "And  you  —  you  look  better  than  when  I  was  here 
last.    And  the  boy?    Where  is  he?" 

He  heard  about  the  breakdown  in  health,  and  the 
motor  tour. 

Then  she  said: 

"Which  reminds  me  why  I  wrote  you.  I  want  a 
lesson,  I  want  to  know  what  bills  of  exchange  are,  and 
what  happens  when  you  do  not  pay  them.  I  want  to 
learn  something  about  discounting.  Sebastian  is  away, 
and  his  head  clerk  seems  singularly  incompetent,  he  came 
to  me  for  advice,  or  help,  and  I  felt  like  a  fool." 

"So  you  sent  for  me  to  help  you?" 

He  came  a  few  paces  nearer  to  her.    In  his  eyes  was 


294  SEBASTIAN 

that  amazing  consciousness  of  her  that  she  had  never 
seen  save  in  his.  Looking  at  him,  at  the  big  powerful 
head,  and  the  consciousness  in  his  eyes,  a  little  rush  of 
feeling  came  over  her,  whether  it  were  gratitude,  or 
personal  interest,  or  something  less  definite  than  either, 
it  was  amazingly  new  to  her. 

"Will  you?"  she  asked  him,  "will  you  help  me?" 

"You  don't  suppose  I  ever  looked  upon  your  letter  as 
final?" 

She  waived  that  on  one  side.  If  her  colour  rose  a 
little,  she  could  not  help  it. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  about  business,  business  generally, 
its  intricacies,  its  difficulties." 

"A  dull  subject." 

"Sebastian  ought  not,  perhaps,  to  have  had  the  whole 
burden  of  it !  I  thought  it  was  simple,  now  it  appears 
complicated,  almost  impossible.  You  cannot  sympathise 
intelligently  with  a  man's  daily  work,  if  you  are  as 
ignorant  as  I  am  of  its  detail.  I  am  annoyed  now  that  I 
have  shut  it  all  out,  listened  with  less  than  half  an  ear." 

"That  gift  of  sympathy  you  have " 

"Don't,  please,  talk  about  me." 

"Well,  not  at  the  moment.  I'll  wait,  I  don't  care  how 
long  I  wait.  You'll  have  to  let  me  talk  about  you  some 
day.  You'll  not  stand  out  against  me  for  ever." 

"I  really  want  to  speak  about  Kendalls." 

"You  shall."  He  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  sofa. 
"Go  on.  What  has  roused  your  interest?  Anything 
wrong  at  the  mills?" 

She  told  him  of  the  interview  with  Mr.  Jones,  relating 
it  humorously,  but  he  listened  gravely.  Something 


SEBASTIAN  295 

he  had  suspected,  perhaps  hoped.  He  did  not  let  her  see 
he  regarded  the  matter  at  all  seriously.  He  explained 
bills  of  exchange,  and  bills  of  lading,  the  difference 
between  "sight,"  and  "three  months."  He  liked  teach- 
ing her,  liked  sitting  with  her,  noting  her  responsive 
intelligence,  noting,  too,  the  luxuriance  of  her  dark  hair, 
the  softness  of  her  thin  lips,  the  entire  desirability  of  her 
for  him.  There  was  no  other  woman  to  whom  he  cared 
to  talk,  he  liked  the  sound  of  her  voice,  it  was  cultured, 
musical,  unlike  those  North  Country  voices  to  which  all 
his  life  he  had  been  used. 

"Mr.  Jones  was  incoherent,  and  involved.  He  said 
some  bills  were  falling  due  on  the  eighth.  It  seems,  or 
so  I  took  it,  people  who  owed  us  money  were  asking  for  an 
extension  of  time;  yet  bills  we  had  accepted  for  large 
amounts  had  to  be  met.  I  told  him,  of  course,  that 
whether  we  were  paid  or  not,  he  must  not  get  into  debt." 

Joe's  grey  eyes  opened  at  this. 

"  But  credit  is  the  very  soul  of  business  !  What  did  he 
say  when  you  told  him  he  must  not  get  into  debt?  " 

"He  was  very  stupid,  and  looked  as  if  he  thought  I 
did  not  know  what  I  was  talking  about.  I  suppose,  as  a 
rule,  men  who  spend  their  lives  in  money-getting  are 
stupid." 

"Counting  me?" 

She  smiled  at  him: 

"Are  newspaper  proprietors  who  represent  their 
county  in  Parliament  supposed  to  be  business  men?" 

"Does  Eton  turn  them  out?" 

"Sebastian  is  absolutely  wrapt  up  in  Kendalls.  He 
talks  to  me  about  the  paper  trade  by  the  hour  together. 


296  SEBASTIAN 

Have  you  seen  this  new  'feather  weight/  as  he  calls  it, 
the  light  paper  he  is  producing?" 

"A  sample  was  shown  to  me." 

"It  is  his  own  invention,  a  new  material,  and  a  new 
treatment.  He  says  it  has  cost  him  thousands  to  pro- 
duce and  perfect  it,  in  machinery  and  in  chemical  ex- 
periments. Now  it  has  to  be  advertised." 

"Sebastian  has  been  spending  money  like  water, 
apparently." 

A  word  to  that  effect,  brought  back  the  boy's  answer, 
unconvincing  through  her  lips  : 

"Spending  thousands  to  make  millions.  He  tells 
me,  in  a  year  or  two,  I  shall  have  ten  thousand  a  year, 
at  least !  So  you  see,  I  do  not  want  anything  from  you, 
but  advice.  You  told  me  once  that  nearly  every  one 
who  sought  your  acquaintance  wanted  something  from 
you.  Well,  at  least  /  do  not  want  money !  "  she  said, 
lightly. 

Joe  suffered  from  candour. 

"Perhaps  it  is  lucky  I  have  some,  though,"  he  an- 
swered bluntly.  He  asked  her  : 

"What  did  you  do,  finally,  about  those  bills?  " 

"What  bills?" 

"That  the  manager  came  up  about.  Perhaps  there 
is  not  money  enough  in  the  bank  ?  " 

She  answered,  quite  calmly: 

"I  told  him  to  let  me  know  the  amount." 

That  startled  him. 

"You  wouldn't  pay  them  yourself,  without  under- 
standing the  position,  nor  enquiring  into  it  ?  " 

"Why  not?    Sebastian  will  give  it  me  back." 


SEBASTIAN  297 

"And  the  amounts?" 

"Five  or  six  thousand  pounds.  I  sent  him  six  thou- 
sand five  hundred,  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  I  borrowed 
it  from  my  bank.  I  signed  some  papers,  and  transferred 
some  securities.  It  seems  rather  complicated.  I  wish 
Sebastian  had  been  at  home.  Mr.  Jones  gave  me  an 
impression  of  incompetence,  of  being  uneasy  and  ner- 
vous." 

"  You  expected  the  boy  last  week  ?  " 

"Yes, -or  to  have  heard  from  him." 

He  meant  to  take  care  of  her,  although  she  had  not 
given  him  the  right.  He  suspected  —  he  had  suspected, 
for  some  time  past  —  that  Sebastian  had  been  over- 
trading on  a  limited  capital;  riding  for  a  fall.  There 
was  a  good  deal  of  the  Rendall  paper  about,  but  it  was 
not  ordinary  merchandise,  hand-made.  It  was  stamped, 
and  on  narrow  slips,  bearing  the  name  of  P.  and  A. 
Rendall  and  Co.  There  was  no  use  talking  to  her  about 
it.  The  only  thing,  apparently,  that  her  intelligence 
had  missed,  was  the  comprehension  of  money.  It  did 
not  matter,  fortunately.  Nothing  should  matter.  She 
might  sign  away  her  fortune,  leave  herself  penniless. 
His  money  might,  after  all,  buy  him  the  priceless. 

"Would  you  like  me  to  see  Mr.  Jones?" 

"I  do  not  want  to  do  anything  that  Sebastian  would 
resent,  that  would  look  to  him  like  interference,  or  doubt. 
But  there  must  be  no  question  of  credit.  I  know  my 
husband  paid  ready  money  for  everything.  I  suppose  I 
did  right  in  trying  to  carry  out  his  views?  "  she  asked. 
"I  am  a  little  worried.  It  seems  like  getting  into  debt 
myself !  Whatever  they  call  it,  of  course,  it  is  a  loan." 


298  SEBASTIAN 

He  got  up  from  beside  her,  took  a  turn  or  two  about 
the  room. 

"I  suppose  you  know  what  you've  done?  You've 
given  away  half  your  income,  half  your  income  that  is 
outside  the  business.  You've  had  your  eyes  shut,  and 
I  suppose  you  want  to  keep  'em  shut.  The  boy  is 
running  a  business  that  wanted  a  quarter  of  a  million  of 
capital,  on  less  than  a  hundred  thousand  pounds.  The 
enlargement  of  the  mills,  and  all  that  new  plant  and 
machinery,  is  a  lock-up  of  his  resources.  No  one  can  run 
a  manufacturing  business  without  liquid  assets." 

"Liquid  assets  means  the  water,  I  suppose?  " 

"Not  exactly,  though  you  might  call  it  the  'driving 
power.'  ' 

"You  may  spare  me  detail,"  she  said,  as  she  had  said 
to  the  old  clerk. 

He  came  over  to  her. 

"I'll  spare  you  everything.  I'll  take  everything  on 
myself,  set  the  boy  on  his  feet  again,  if  he  has  got  out  of 
his  depth.  I  like  his  ambition,  I'll  put  him  right,  and 
see  he  keeps  right.  Come,  is  it  a  bargain?  I  want 
something  for  it:  you  know  what  I  want." 

It  was  astounding  to  her  that  Sebastian  should  have 
got  into  any  difficulties  in  the  City;  it  was  incredible. 

"I  cannot  believe  things  are  as  you  say.  I  should 
think  you  have  been  misinformed.  I  will  see  Mr.  Jones 
again  to-morrow.  He  did  not  tell  me  anything  like 
that,  only  that  we  were  overdrawn.  There  is  money 
coming  in,  large  payments  are  expected." 

"Maybe.  Or  maybe  he  was  counting  on  being  able 
to  renew  the  bills.  But  that's  naught  to  me.  Are  you 
going  to  let  me  look  after  you,  that's  the  question." 


SEBASTIAN  299 

He  stood  over  her,  it  seemed  almost  menacingly,  wait- 
ing for  his  answer. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "well?"  impatiently.  It  was  not 
gentle  wooing. 

She  told  him  so,  with  laughter  that  touched  hysteria. 

"Really,  your  money-or-your-life  manner  is  so  melo- 
dramatic." 

"  You  mustn't  mind  my  manner,"  he  said,  more  gently. 
"Let  me  get  back  those  securities  for  you;  let  me  put 
things  straight.  I  can  do  it  easily  if  you  say  what  I 
want  you  to,  if  you'll  take  me.  I  shall  never  give  up 
asking  you." 

"I  loathe  married  life."  She  grew  flushed  at  the  very 
thought  of  it. 

"You've  never  tried  it.  That  wasn't  married  life 
you  lived  with  poor  Kendall. " 

"It  was  enough  to  make  me  know  how  I  hate  to  be 
tied." 

He  took  another  turn  about  the  room: 

"You  don't  give  me  any  chance.  You  keep  me  at 
arm's  length.  This  City  affair  now  .  .  .  who  else  have 
you  got  to  turn  to?  " 

"  You  want  me  to  marry  you  for  your  money  ?  " 

"What  do  I  care  what  you  marry  me  for?  " 

She  listened  to  him  now  with  ever-growing  interest. 
She  knew  that  it  was  a  great  deal  that  he  was  offering 
her,  any  woman  might  be  proud  of  having  inspired  Joe 
Wallingford  with  so  much  feeling.  The  incident  and 
his  attitude  toward  her  were  outside  her  experience. 
She  searched  her  past  for  something  that  would  help  her, 
but  there  was  nothing.  Nevertheless,  she  was  irration- 


300  SEBASTIAN 

ally  glad,  and  flattered.  He  had  written  to  her  about 
his  wishes,  a  long  time  ago,  and  she  had  replied  without 
difficulty,  but  this  was  different  to  a  letter,  more  difficult 
to  meet.  He  seemed  so  much  in  earnest.  For  no  reason 
she  could  find,  her  heart  began  to  beat  quickly. 

He  pressed  his  suit.  He  reminded  her  that  she  had 
many  lonely  hours,  he  said  that  there  would  be  more  of 
them  as  the  boy's  interests  expanded.  She  cared  for 
curios,  he  would  give  her  money  enough  to  buy  the 
British  Museum.  He  was  ashamed  of  having  said  that; 
but  it  was  in  his  mind,  and  he  gave  it  speech.  There 
might  be  shortage  of  money  if  Sebastian  went  on  as  he 
had  been  doing.  She  might  have  to  give  up  her  car- 
riage. 

Vanessa  murmured  that  she  "liked  walking."  He 
saw  she  was  genuine  in  not  seeing  any  money  trouble  in 
prospect,  whatever  an  investigation  into  City  matters 
would  show.  She  had  never  known  poverty,  never  seen 
it  at  close  quarters,  it  had  no  terrors  for  her.  And  she 
was  sure  when  Sebastian  came  home,  everything  would 
be  found  to  be  all  right;  she  had  unbounded  confidence 
in  him. 

"All  right!"  He  ceased  his  perambulations,  his 
almost  irritated  insistence,  and  he  drew  up  in  front  of 
her:  "You  think  you  can  do  without  me;  the  advice 
you  asked  me  for,  you  don't  mean  to  take.  For,  mind 
you,  I  don't  go  behind  my  advice.  It  is  '  marry  me,'  and 
be  done  with  it.  Well !  you  won't,  you're  obstinate 
about  it.  It's  not  that  you  don't  like  me " 

" I  do  like  you,"  she  interposed,  quickly.    He  stooped : 

"I've  half  a  mind  to  make  you." 


SEBASTIAN  301 

He  put  an  uncertain  hand  upon  her  shoulder.  "  There 
is  a  woman  in  you,  I  swear." 

She  flushed,  she  would  have  risen. 

"  Sit  you  still.  I  am  not  going  to  hurt  you.  Think  of 
it  again." 

He  kept  his  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  You  do  know  how  I  feel  about  you ;  you  know  that, 
anyway." 

She  could  not  get  away  from  him  without  making  too 
much  of  the  incident.  She  was  greatly  embarrassed  by 
his  attitude,  not  quite  sure  what  she  must  do ;  there  was 
quite  a  light  in  his  eyes.  But  she  disliked  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  She  put  hers  up  to  release  herself;  and  he 
caught  it  in  his. 

"  Give  me  a  hearing.     What  have  you  got  against  me  ?  " 

"It  is  not  you,  it  is  me.     I  am  too  old,  for  one  thing." 

"You're  the  age  I  want  you  to  be." 

"I'm  so  —  so  occupied." 

"Well!   aren't  I  a  busy  man?" 

"Then,  there  is  Sebastian."  Her  flush  deepened 
under  his  regard,  her  confusion  increased.  Perhaps  he 
thought  it  was  his  opportunity.  He  put  his  arms 
gently  about  her,  his  big  arms,  he  kissed  her. 

It  was  incredible,  impossible,  unprecedented.  But 
there  was  no  doubt  about  it  having  happened.  She  put 
out  both  hands  to  ward  him  off;  but  she  had  no  need. 
He  was  standing  up  now,  waiting  his  sentence,  waiting 
to  hear  if  she  would  send  him  away,  or  bid  him  stay. 
She  could  find  no  words  for  him,  no  words  at  all. 

"  Well !  Say  at  least  you'll  think  it  over !  you  won't 
forget." 


302  SEBASTIAN 

Could  she  ever  forget  ?  She  put  up  her  shaking  hands 
to  her  outraged  face,  burning  now.  She  could  not 
understand  that  she  did  not  feel  more  angry. 

"It  —  it  was  unpardonable,"  she  began,  helplessly. 
He  was  glad  he  was  not  being  sent  away,  dismissed 
summarily.  He  would  have  to  walk  warily ;  he  did  not 
under-rate  the  difficulties  in  front  of  him.  "  What  would 
Stella  say?  Stella  to  whom  I  am  all  the  world?  " 

"  Yes,  about  Stella,"  he  said,  "  tell  me.  Is  she  not  any 
stronger?  Does  she  take  up  more  of  your  time?  " 

"I  wish  you  would  sit  down,  or,  or  look  out  of  the 
window.  I  can't  talk  while  you  are  standing  up,  and 
staring  at  me." 

He  went  to  the  window  obediently,  even  turned  his 
back  on  her  that  she  might  recover  her  self-possession. 
He  was  surprised  himself  at  what  he  had  done. 

"Tell  me  about  Stella,"  he  said  again,  but  added, 
"I  want  to  know  everything,  to  share  all  your  troubles." 

It  seemed  as  if  she  were  arguing  with  herself,  showing 
a  weakness  new  to  her. 

"I  cannot  abandon  my  responsibilities.  Perhaps  I 
should  not  resent  being  —  being  cared  for.  But  I  am 
not  free,  not  free  in  any  way.  Sebastian  could  not  live 
alone,  I  know  my  companionship  is  much  to  him,  vital 
almost,  just  now.  Stella  is  out  of  health,  I  am  often 
filled  with  anxiety  about  her.  I  try  and  disguise  it;  I 
tell  her,  and  Bice,  and  myself,  that  she  gains  strength. 
But  it  is  not  true.  She  hardly  goes  out  at  all  now,  sur- 
rounding herself  with  books  and  flowers.  If  I  fail  in 
going  there  daily  she  resents  it,  I  know  she  does,  even 
if  she  does  not  say  so.  Bice  is  not  the  companion  to  her 
that  I  am,  however  much  she  may  care  about  her." 


SEBASTIAN  303 

Vanessa  was  following  her  own  thoughts,  following 
them  aloud.  A  new  point  had  been  reached  in  her 
intimacy  with  Joe  Wallingford,  she  felt  nearer  to  him,  it 
was  even  possible  his  wish  might  become  hers.  "Some- 
times I  dream  —  I  dream  that  Stella  is  leaving  me.  I 
cannot  give  you  what  I  owe  to  her.  I  can  put  no  one  in 
her  place  — 

"And  afterward  —  afterward?"  he  asked,  coming 
near  to  her  again. 

The  unready  tears  were  hot  behind  her  eyes,  although 
they  did  not  fall. 

"  Don't  press  me,  let  me  think.  You  have  said  enough 
for  to-day,  give  me  time." 

He  stooped,  he  kissed  her  hand. 

"Quite  right.  I've  said  enough,  you've  been  very 
good  to  me.  I'll  go  now,  and  you  will  let  me  see  you 
oftener.  I'll  not  stand  between  you  and  your  dear  ones. 
Tell  me  when  I  may  come  again." 

She  was  glad  to  be  alone.  She  had  never  voiced  her 
fears  for  Stella,  now  all  at  once  they  shook  her.  She 
would  not  marry  Joe  Wallingford,  marriage  was  not  for 
her,  she  had  so  many  responsibilities,  interests. 

But  often  she  remembered  that  Joe  Wallingford  had 
kissed  her,  and  that  she  had  not  been  angry.  She 
forgot  for  what  she  had  sent  for  him,  the  difficulties  in 
Queen  Victoria  Street  passed  out  of  her  mind. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SEBASTIAN  was  overdue.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
it.  The  third  week  had  gone  by,  and  now  the  fourth, 
and  still  there  came  no  letter,  and  no  Sebastian.  She 
heard  no  further  disquieting  news  from  the  City,  she 
told  herself  that  this  proved  Joe  Wallingford  to  have 
been  wrong,  there  was  no  trouble  impending  there,  he 
had  jumped  to  a  wrong  conclusion,  misled  perhaps  by 
what  she  had  told  him.  She  could  not  get  Joe  Walling- 
ford out  of  her  mind.  He  had  said  that  he  did  not  mean 
to  give  up  his  intentions.  Could  it  be  that  she  was  glad  ? 
Again,  it  was  her  writing  that  suffered,  and  the  new 
book,  The  Education  of  a  Novelist,  became  subordinate 
to  a  certain  pleasure  she  had  in  recalling  a  moment,  a 
phrase,  an  action,  reviving  in  herself  that  untoward 
flush,  and  heat  of  the  blood. 

Perhaps  —  but  all  the  possibilities  that  thronged  her 
were  dependent  on  what  Sebastian  might  say.  What 
was  delaying  him  ?  A  vague  uneasiness  arose,  was  ban- 
ished, persisted. 

Stella  had  taken  advantage  of  Bice's  absence  to  try  a 
fortnight  at  Brighton.  She  returned  before  Vanessa's 
uneasiness  took  concrete  form. 

She  had  brought  back  grapes  and  orchids;  roses  and 
violets  bloomed  perpetually  in  her  vases  and  dishes. 
But  she  was  looking  no  better  for  the  change,  very  frail 
and  tired. 

304 


SEBASTIAN  305 

"Saighton  brought  me  up,"  she  explained.  "He  has 
been  staying  at  Brighton  for  the  week-end.  Tell  me  all 
your  news.  What  does  Sebastian  write  of  the  trip? 
Bice  was  enthusiastic  at  first,  but  I  fancy  her  enthusiasm 
has  died  down  considerably.  I  have  not  heard  at  all  for 
more  than  a  week." 

"Sebastian  and  I  have  a  sort  of  unwritten  contract 
about  letters,  he  hates  the  idea  of  them  following  him 
about.  And  we  find  if  we  do  not  correspond  there  is 
more  to  talk  about  when  we  see  each  other.  He  ought 
to  be  home  really,  he  was  due  last  week.  He  is  wanted 
at  the  office,  too.  I  believe  I  am  getting  worried  about 
him." 

"Well!  you  are  always  more  or  less  worried  about 
him,  are  you  not  ?  There  is  nothing  new  in  that,"  Stella 
answered,  wearily. 

"Did  Bice's  letters  say  anything  about  Sebastian?" 

"Every  letter  reiterated  that  Sebastian  was  an  angel, 
or  words  to  that  effect." 

"Did  she  say  he  was  quite  well?" 

"  Of  course  he  is  quite  well.  Why  not  ?  He  is  young, 
happy.  He  has  something  to  live  for." 

"I  wish  they  were  back,"  Vanessa  repeated  again. 
"  I  suppose  there  is  no  cause  for  their  delay  ?  I  am  full 
of  presentiment,  forebodings."  She  wanted  reassurance. 

"What  could  have  happened?"  Stella  asked  her. 

"There  have  been  such  things  as  motor  accidents." 

"Yes!  But  not  motor  annihilations.  Including  the 
chauffeur,  there  were  five  people  in  the  car.  One  must 
have  lived  to  tell  the  tale." 

But  when  Stella  realised  that  Vanessa  was  genuinely  ill 


306  SEBASTIAN 

at  ease,  she  discontinued  rallying,  and  roused  herself  to 
argue  with  her.  There  had  been  times,  capable  of 
psychic  explanation  no  doubt,  during  Sebastian's  school 
career,  when  an  attack  of  measles,  or  mumps,  influenza, 
or  a  football  mishap,  had  been  known  to  Vanessa  before 
the  letter  announcing  it  arrived.  In  early  days,  Stella 
had  refused  to  acknowledge  this  phenomenon.  If  any 
one  had  such  hold  on  Vanessa  as  that,  it  should  have 
been  she,  her  twin. 

But  of  late  years  there  was  grey,  stifling  mist  between 
her  and  her  sister,  growing  ever  thicker  and  sadder,  a 
soft  sea-mist  of  tears.  Through  it  they  no  longer  saw 
each  other  clearly ;  even  their  speech  together  was  dulled. 
All  this  Stella  felt  to-day,  returning  from  her  ever  more 
fruitless  journey  after  health.  Her  spirits  were  chilled, 
and  the  premonition  of  misfortune  she  read  in  Vanessa's 
mind  found  immediate  pale  reflection  in  her  own. 

Could  anything  be  wrong  with  the  motor  party  ? 

They  began  to  argue  with  themselves,  with  each  other, 
to  calculate  times  and  distances,  to  discuss  the  French 
and  Swiss  postal  systems,  to  talk  of  possible  punctures, 
breakdowns. 

The  premonition  of  evil  remained ;  no  amount  of  talk, 
nor  argument,  could  dissipate  it. 

A  telegram,  received  a  day  or  two  later,  from  Bice, 
lightened  the  disquietude,  but  only  partially  relieved 
the  anxiety. 

"Motor  party  broken  up.  Folkestone  3.18.  Home  to 
dinner." 

Stella  sent  it  to  Vanessa,  and  together  the  sisters 
awaited  the  arrival,  and  the  explanation.  As  they  sat, 


SEBASTIAN  307 

they  exhausted  conjecture.  If  Sebastian  had  been  ill, 
for,  of  course,  that  was  the  spectre  Vanessa  conjured  up, 
Bice  would  not  have  left  him.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
that.  Yet,  that  something  ailed  Sebastian,  that  he  was 
in  trouble,  trouble  of  mind  or  body,  his  mother  could  not 
doubt.  The  tie  between  them  was  really  close;  in  her 
uneven  heart-beats  and  distressful  pulses  she  knew  all 
was  not  normal  with  her  son.  Psychic,  or  merely  hu- 
man, she  could  not  persuade  herself  her  fears  were 
groundless. 

She  wanted  to  meet  Bice  at  the  station,  but  it  was 
impossible  to  leave  Stella.  Stella  had  had  several  at- 
tacks of  faintness  in  the  last  forty-eight  hours.  Dr. 
Gifford  had  been  backwards  and  forwards,  making  light 
of  them. 

He  said  to  Vanessa : 

"I  shouldn't  go  to  Victoria  if  I  were  you.  The  train 
might  be  ten  minutes  late,  and  Mrs.  Ashton  would  con- 
jure up  both  of  you  in  a  collision.  I  should  stay  here, 
together,  until  Bice  comes  with  her  story."  He  was 
quite  in  their  confidence,  and  secretly  shared  their  anx- 
iety. "It  will  be  a  very  simple  one,  you  see,  you  are 
both  of  you  working  yourselves  into  a  panic  over  noth- 
ing." 

Vanessa  took  the  hint  that  she  must  not  leave  Stella 
alone,  she  knew  Dr.  Gifford's  methods,  her  knowledge 
of  him  told  her  he  was  not  satisfied  with  Stella's  condi- 
tion. She  neglected  nothing  of  his  orders  for  diet,  stimu- 
lant, or  medicine. 

"There  she  is  !  I  hear  the  cab  stop,"  Stella  cried  out, 
suddenly,  pale  among  the  cushions.  "You  run  down; 


SOS  SEBASTIAN 

I'll  stay  here.  Make  her  speak  loud,  I  shall  hear  her 
voice  on  the  stairs." 

Vanessa  had  not  waited  for  permission.  She  was 
down  the  stairs,  and  at  the  street  door,  before  Bice  had 
got  the  cab  door  opened.  Her  voice  reached  Stella 
through  the  open  windows  of  the  drawing-room. 

"How  is  mummy?" 

"Sebastian,  how  did  you  leave  Sebastian?" 

"All  right.    He  was  quite  well  all  the  time." 

"The  motor?" 

"Is  mummy  all  right?" 

"She  is  in  the  drawing-room.  Talk  loud,  she  wants 
to  hear  your  voice." 

"I'll  rush  up.     I  knew  she  had  been  ill." 

"You  are  quite  sure  Sebastian  is  well?" 

"He  was  quite  well  when  I  left  him." 

Vanessa  let  her  get  her  first  greeting  over  with  her 
mother.  For  a  full  ten  minutes  she  restrained  her  im- 
patience for  news,  for  detail. 

When  she  went  upstairs  again,  Bice  was  on  her  knees, 
her  head  in  her  mother's  lap. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  come  away,"  Vanessa  heard  her 
saying.  "I  know  I  ought  not  to  have.  But  I  couldn't 
bear  it.  .  .  ." 

She  did  not  rise  when  her  aunt  came  in.  Stella's 
hand  was  on  her  hair,  soothing  her. 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  Sebastian,"  Stella 
said,  quickly.  "The  party  was  inharmonious  from  the 
first.  They  did  not  stay  long  together.  Bice  left  the 
others  in  Zurich,  more  than  a  week  ago." 

"I  had  to,"  Bice  whispered.  But  Stella  went  on,  as 
if  she  had  not  heard. 


SEBASTIAN  309 

"It  was  a  series  of  misunderstandings.  Mr.  Hayling 
behaved  badly.  Pleasey  - 

But  Bice  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet. 

"Wait  until  Aunt  Vanessa  hears  it  from  the  others. 
It  was  all  horrid.  But  I'm  home  again  now." 

She  threw  herself  on  the  sofa,  pressing  her  head  to 
her  mother's  breast. 

"I'm  home  again  with  my  mummy.  I'll  never  leave 
her  again,  will  I?  You  wanted  me  back  all  the  time, 
didn't  you?" 

Vanessa  knew  she  must  leave  them  with  each  other, 
but  she  was  full  of  a  natural  curiosity,  still  not  freed 
from  fears.  She  accepted  Bice's  assurance  that  the 
boy  was  well,  but  it  left  her  unsatisfied. 

She  went  away  reluctantly;  it  was  all  very  unsatis- 
factory. Why  did  not  Sebastian  return,  or  at  least 
write?  It  was  unlike  him  to  be  inconsiderate  of  her. 

Stella  never  heard  the  full  detail  of  that  motor  trip; 
it  is  doubtful  if  even  Vanessa  penetrated  all  its  mysteries. 
Stella  heard  that,  at  first,  Bice  liked  Mr.  Hayling,  and 
that  then  —  she  didn't.  But  the  reasons  she  gave  for 
her  change  of  feeling  were  involved  and  difficult.  She 
was  not  confidential  about  Pleasey,  either;  she  could 
not  speak  freely  of  Pleasey,  even  to  her  mother. 

Things  had  not  been  so  bad  until  they  got  to  Aix. 
And  at  Aix,  for  a  short  time,  she  had  been  happier  than 
at  any  other  part  of  the  tour.  Mr.  Hayling  taught 
Pleasey  to  play  baccarat ;  he  took  banks  with  her.  He 
wanted  Sebastian  to  play,  but  Sebastian  said  he  had  had 
his  lesson,  he  would  never  gamble  again  as  long  as  he 
lived.  Mr.  Hayling  had  chaffed  him,  and  called  him  a 


310  SEBASTIAN 

milksop,  but  it  had  not  made  any  difference.  She  and 
Sebastian  had  had  many  hours  together,  and  had  ex- 
plored the  country,  revelling  in  the  beauty  of  mountain, 
lake,  and  gorge.  But  one  of  these  trips  all  of  them  had 
taken  together.  It  was  to  the  Grande  Chartreuse. 
Their  own  motor  was  being  repaired,  and  they  had  hired 
two.  It  was  supposed  that  she  and  her  cousin  were  to 
occupy  one,  and  in  that  order  they  started.  But  Mr. 
Hayling  had  driven  back  with  her.  .  .  . 

There  came  a  pause ;  Bice  did  not  want  to  talk  about 
the  drive.  She  would  say  no  more  about  Mr.  Hayling. 

Stella  heard  that  Pleasey  and  Sebastian  came  back 
very  late  from  the  Grande  Chartreuse ;  it  appeared  they 
had  had  a  puncture. 

"Pleasey  asked  me  what  Mr.  Hayling  had  talked  to 
me  about  in  the  hours  we  had  been  together,  whether  he 
had  talked  about  her.  I  told  her  he  —  he  was  horrid. 
She  said  such  strange  things  to  me  about  him !  And  I 
thought  she  had  cared  always  for  Sebastian,  mummy !" 

"What  sort  of  things?"  asked  Stella,  holding  the  girl 
in  her  weak  arms,  listening  to  her  confidences,  with  her 
heart  a  little  cold.  In  this,  too,  had  she  failed?  Had 
she  guarded  her  young  daughter  so  badly;  had  evil 
shown  itself  to  her  so  soon  ? 

But  over  such  as  Bice,  or  such  as  Sebastian  Kendall, 
evil  passes  comparatively  harmlessly. 

Bice  could  not  repeat  what  Pleasey  had  said  to  her 
about  Mr.  Hayling;  she  did  not  want  to  remember. 
But  they  had  never  been  really  good  friends  after  that 
conversation.  And  Bice  had  been  miserable.  Neither 
Bice  nor  Sebastian  had  wished  to  remain  on  at  Aix. 


SEBASTIAN  311 

Mr.  Hayling  had  driven  them  to  Zurich.  Apparently 
the  drive  had  been  pleasant,  and  some  sort  of  peace 
was  patched  up  between  the  parties.  For  Bice  told  of 
a  wonderful  sunset  behind  snow-clad  mountains,  snow 
and  sun  reflection  on  the  green  waters  of  Lake  Geneva, 
of  a  panorama  of  spring  loveliness  in  the  clear  air. 

"In  Zurich  Mr.  Hayling  asked  me  to  —  to  forgive 
him.  He  said  — 

"That  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  my  baby?" 

"He  was  horrid,  mummy,  horrid !    I  told  Sebastian." 

"And  Sebastian?" 

"He  thought  he  had  better  tell  Pleasey,  he  said  that 
Pleasey  knew  him  so  well  she  would  speak  to  him,  and 
tell  him  to  leave  me  alone.  Sebastian  was  so  good 
about  it,  so  sweet." 

"And  then?" 

"Pleasey  told  Sebastian  I  must  have  been  imagining 
things!" 

"Sebastian  agreed  with  her?" 

"He  believes  anything  Pleasey  tells  him.  Mr.  Hay- 
ling  told  me  so,  he  laughed  about  it.  He  said  he  had 
led  her  off  the  scent.  Mummy,  aren't  men  beastly? 
Mr.  Hayling  was  always  —  was  always  —  dodging  me 
about ;  you  know  what  I  mean  —  in  ...  in  corridors, 
everywhere.  I  ran  away,  I  know  I  ought  not  to  have 
been  such  a  coward.  Pleasey  was  being  so  nice  to 
Sebastian,  and  making  him  believe  in  her.  Then  when 
he  wasn't  looking,  she  was  being  nice  to  Mr.  Hayling. 
And  he  was  laughing  at  her,  to  me ;  and  —  and  dodg- 
ing. I  couldn't  bear  it,  I  ran  away.  I  wouldn't  come 
straight  home,  I  was  afraid  Mr.  Hayling  would  follow 


312  SEBASTIAN 

me  in  the  car.  So  I  went  on  to  Frankfort."  (Bice  had 
had  a  year  at  school  there.)  "I  went  to  Frau  von 
Schroeder.  I  didn't  tell  her  anything,  except  that  I 
had  been  travelling  with  a  motor  party,  and  the  party 
had  broken  up.  She  wouldn't  let  me  come  home  alone. 
She  was  awfully  kind  and  nice.  She  knew  some  people 
who  were  coming  to  England  in  a  few  days,  and  she 
made  me  wait  for  them.  They  brought  me  as  far  as 
Folkestone  —  an  old  professor  and  his  two  sisters, 
stuffy  sort  of  people,  but  quite  nice.  Are  you  angry 
with  me  ?  Oughtn't  I  to  have  come  away  ?  You  don't 
know  how  horrid  it  all  was.  And  it  seemed  as  if  they 
were  both  deceiving  Sebastian,  and  I  couldn't  make  him 
know.  I  couldn't  bear  that,  I  didn't  know  what  to 
do." 

That  was  Bice's  version  of  the  story  —  a  sufficiently 
difficult  one  to  convey  to  Vanessa. 

The  full  force  of  the  blow,  for  which  she  had  been 
unconsciously  waiting,  fell  upon  her  before  she  under- 
stood the  significance  of  what  she  heard. 

It  came  in  a  letter  from  Sebastian,  nearly  a  week 
after  Bice's  return.  It  was  not  like  his  usual  letters; 
and  it  conveyed  incredible  news,  heart-breaking  news. 
He  had  stayed  in  Geneva,  waiting  the  necessary  formali- 
ties. He  had  married  Pleasey  Pleyden-Carr !  He  said 
he  could  not  write  about  his  happiness,  his  unspeakable 
happiness !  His  mother  would  forgive  his  not  having 
waited  to  consult  her;  he  would  explain  everything 
when  he  saw  her.  He  was  bringing  his  wife  home,  he 
knew  his  mother  would  love  Pleasey,  would  welcome 
them  both ! 


SEBASTIAN  313 

It  was  heart-breaking,  devastating,  irretrievable. 

She  could  not  face  Stella  with  her  news.  She  kept 
it  for  a  day,  like  an  asp  in  her  breast  it  burned  within 
her;  it  was  poison  in  the  wound,  that  she  had  not  fore- 
seen his  danger,,  not  guarded  him  against  it.  It  was 
almost  unbearable  that  perhaps  she  had  wandered  from 
him  in  thought,  that  perhaps  the  link  between  them 
had  been  weakened,  the  light  obscured,  by  Joe  Walling- 
ford.  What  had  transpired  between  her  and  Joe  was 
secret,  and  now  it  was  a  secret  shame.  Her  life  be- 
longed to  her  son;  she  had  faltered  in  her  trust. 

With  a  heart  like  lead,  with  feet  that  lagged,  she  did, 
nevertheless,  what  Sebastian  asked  of  her  in  his  letter. 

She  told  the  news  to  the  household;  she  had  rooms 
prepared  for  them.  And  she  went  to  see  Pleasey's 
parents,  went  to  that  sordid  lodging-house  in  Wimble- 
don, renewing  a  painful,  half-obliterated  memory. 

Mrs.  Pleyden-Carr  was  at  home.  Vanessa  saw  in  a 
moment  that  her  news  would  be  no  news  to  Pleasey's 
mother.  How  the  old  story  came  back,  the  story  of 
Pleyden-Carr's  dismissal  from  the  Embassy,  the  ru- 
mours, the  disgraceful  truth ! 

The  tall,  gaunt  woman  who  rose  to  greet  her  in  the 
stuffy  parlour,  redolent  of  mutton  fat  and  musty  poverty, 
had  once  been  accounted  beautiful,  and  had  held  her 
position  in  the  inner  circle  of  Italian  society.  In  his 
cups,  Ambrose  Pleyden-Carr  had  let  out  to  her  an 
international  secret.  No  one  knew  exactly  what  oc- 
curred, but  the  secret  was  betrayed  almost  immediately, 
and  it  was  suspected  that  his  wife  had  told  it  to  an 
Italian  lover.  All  that  followed  was  a  nightmare  of 


314  SEBASTIAN 

blurred  remembrance.  Hepplewight-Ventom  had  helped 
them,  everybody  had  tried  to  help  them.  But  the  weak- 
ness of  moral  character  was  in  both  husband  and  wife, 
and  deterioration  had  been  rapid. 

Mrs.  Pleyden-Carr  held  out  a  soiled  and  shaky  hand, 
she  had  lost  even  her  self-respect,  her  care  for  her  per- 
son; she  was  one  with  her  sordid  surroundings. 

"I  have  just  heard  the  great  news,"  she  said;  "Mr. 
Carr  has  gone  out  to  telegraph  to  them." 

"You  were  surprised?" 

"I  never  thought  Pleasey  would  have  married  a 
business  man.  Her  father  always  said  that  when  Lord 
St.  Clair  came  home  from  Egypt,  he  would  see  that  she 
had  the  right  introductions.  You  would  hardly  believe 
it,  but  Pleasey  has  not  even  been  presented !  We  were 
waiting  for  the  St.  Clairs.  I  don't  know  what  they  will 
say  at  having  a  married  woman  to  present !  Our 
Pleasey  —  it  seems  impossible  ! "  She  laughed  affectedly. 

The  artificiality  of  it  all,  the  high  falsetto  voice,  and 
assumption  that  things  were  not  as  they  seemed  on  the 
surface,  that  they  were  still  in  their  old  position,  turned 
her  sick.  Anything  had  been  better  than  that.  Frank- 
ness, simplicity,  honest  poverty,  would  not  have  re- 
pelled her.  Ambrose  Pleyden-Carr  did  nothing  to  re- 
lieve the  situation,  when  he  hurried  in. 

He  was,  perhaps,  less  completely  a  wreck  than  his 
wife.  Behind  his  shabbiness,  one  could  see  a  shadowy 
something,  a  possibility  that  he  had  once  been  a  gentle- 
man, but  it  was  like  a  spirit  photograph:  it  might  be 
there,  or  it  might  not,  there  was  no  substance  in  it. 

"I  have  just  telegraphed  to  that  naughty  girl  of 


SEBASTIAN  315 

mine,"  he  began.  "To  think  of  her  marrying  in  this 
way!"  He  had  evidently  been  ill  coached  in  his  part. 
"And  before  the  Lechlades  return  from  India!  Lady 
Lechlade  mil  be  disappointed;  she  had  set  her  heart 
on  bringing  Pleasey  out.  They've  no  girls  of  their 
own,  you  know.  Pleasey  would  have  had  such  oppor- 
tunities. Lord  Lechlade  would  have  been  sure  to  ad- 
mire her.  This  sudden  marriage  is  such  a  surprise  to 
us;  you  won't  mind  if  I  say  something  of  a  disappoint- 
ment!" 

"You  anticipated  a  great  alliance  for  your  daugh- 
ter?" Vanessa  answered  dully,  sick  at  heart.  Such 
pin-pricks  as  their  assumption  of  disappointment  could 
not  hurt  her.  The  poison  in  her  veins  was  that  she 
might  have  saved  him.  Had  her  thoughts  wandered 
from  him? 

She  tried  to  be  courteous,  to  pretend  to  believe  what 
they  told  her,  although  she  knew  quite  well  that  they 
lived  by  writing  begging  letters  to  those  who  had  met 
them  in  reputable  days.  She  listened  whilst  they  used 
big  names,  talking  of  those  who  pitied  and  helped  them, 
as  if  they  were  still  intimate  personal  friends.  Even  if 
it  had  not  been  for  this  awful,  this  irremediable  mar- 
riage of  Sebastian's,  they  would  have  been  alike  in- 
tolerable in  themselves,  and  in  the  reminiscences  they 
evoked. 

"I  remember  your  father  coming  to  me  about  his 
book  on  missal  paper.  Was  it  ever  finished?  I  don't 
recollect  his  sending  me  a  copy.  I  am  glad  to  say  I 
was  able  to  be  of  great  assistance  to  him.  I  gained 
him  access  to  the  Castellento  Collection.  You  remem- 
ber  » 


316  SEBASTIAN 

She  remembered.  Her  father  had  put  little  jobs  in 
his  way,  jobs  of  copying  documents,  making  extracts. 
They  had  not  fallen  so  low  as  this  then,  not  nearly  so 
low.  Ambrose  had  still  tried  to  get  work.  She  recalled 
her  father's  description  of  his  capacity:  "His  mind  is  a 
lumber-room,  he  cannot  get  at  what  is  stored  there." 

Now  he  talked  on : 

"You  remember  our  Pleasey  when  she  was  quite  a 
little  girl?  Always  a  great  beauty;  people  turned 
round  to  look  at  her  in  the  streets.  When  the  Grand 
Duke " 

"Mrs.  Kendall  could  not  remember  Pleasey,"  Mrs. 
Carr  reminded  him,  with  dignity.  "Pleasey  was  the 
baby  in  those  days,  it  is  twenty  years  ago  since  we  were 
in  Florence.  It  is  Violetta  she  would  remember,  our 
beautiful  Violetta."  She  put  her  soiled  handkerchief 
to  her  rheumy  eyes.  Pleasey  was  something  older  than 
her  bridegroom.  Pleasey's  age  must  be  obscured. 

Vanessa's  blurred  memory  called  up  other  children. 
Pretty,  lint-haired  babies,  boys  and  girls,  four  or  five 
of  them,  had  been  part  of  the  pathos  of  the  position, 
that  which  had  moved  the  English  colony  in  Rome  to 
pity  when  the  catastrophe  happened. 

She  asked  of  these  children.  They  had  slipped 
through  weak,  incompetent  hands.  One  lay  buried  in 
Florence,  and  one  at  St.  Rapello.  Violetta  lay  in 
Rome.  Vanessa  thought  bitterly  it  was  well  that  they 
were  dead.  The  Pleyden-Carrs  recalled  who  the  god- 
fathers and  godmothers  had  been,  reciting  their  names, 
talking  as  if  Grand  Dukes,  and  Royalty,  had  been  proud 
to  stand  sponsors  to  their  children.  Mrs.  Carr  said 


SEBASTIAN  317 

they  had  had  many  troubles,  losing  their  dear  ones. 
Now  there  were  only  Pleasey  and  Zuley. 

All  the  time  Vanessa's  visit  lasted,  Zuley  sat  and 
stared  at  her.  She  was  paler  even  than  Pleasey,  her 
scant  hair  was  white,  and  white,  too,  the  eyelashes  of 
her  blinking  eyes. 

There  was  no  understanding  in  her,  and  limited 
speech;  she  had  a  cleft  palate,  and  a  wandering  dis- 
position towards  forbidden  things.  She  wore  a  battered 
red  velvet,  three-cornered  hat.  It  was  horribly  incon- 
gruous, and  absurd,  this  warm  spring  day.  Afterwards 
Vanessa  learnt  that,  indoors,  or  out  of  doors,  in  velvet, 
in  plush,  or  in  felt,  she  clung  to  this  insignia.  God 
alone  knows  what  it  meant  to  her.  But  it  was  im- 
possible to  take  it  from  her;  she  was  never  seen  with- 
out it.  All  through  that  visit  Vanessa  paid,  Zuley 
played  with  her  three-cornered  Napoleonic  hat,  setting 
it  now  and  again  on  her  untidy  head,  posing  vacantly. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IT  was  incredible  he  should  look  so  radiantly  well,  so 
extravagantly  happy. 

"Where  is  the  mater?" 

She  heard  his  voice  in  the  hall,  on  the  stairs.  She 
went  out  to  welcome  him,  but  her  eyes  were  misty. 

"I  surprised  you  this  time,  didn't  I?  I  left  Pleasey 
at  Victoria,  she  has  gone  off  to  see  her  people;  she  will 
be  back  in  time  for  dinner."  He  noticed  her  pallor. 
"You  didn't  mind?  You  weren't  sick  about  it,  were 
you?  It  will  be  ever  so  much  cheerier  for  you,  having 
some  one  to  be  with  you  when  I'm  out."  He  put  his 
arm  about  her,  he  kissed  her  cheek,  he  was  unwontedly 
affectionate.  "Have  you  missed  me,  old  dear?" 

It  moved  her;  nothing  had  the  power  to  move  her 
like  any  demonstration  from  Sebastian,  it  was  so  un- 
usual with  him.  The  tenderness  that  lay  so  deep  in 
her,  trickled  out  painfully  to  meet  him.  She  saw,  not- 
withstanding his  flippant  entry,  that  he  was  a  little  out- 
side himself,  wanting  sympathy.  She  must  wait  to 
hear  all  he  would  tell  her.  Now  she  had  to  nerve  her- 
self to  give  him  something  of  what  he  wanted  —  reas- 
surance, and  evidence  that  it  was  indeed  home  where  he 
had  come. 

"I  was  right  to  bring  her  here?" 

"Of  course.    Isn't  this  your  home?" 

318 


SEBASTIAN  319 

"Don't  think  it  was  only  a  sudden  impulse.  I  have 
always  wanted  her.  I  should  never  have  done  those 
rotten  things  I  did,  gone  that  mucker,  but  that  I  thought 
she  did  not  care  for  me,  that  it  was  hopeless.  She  has 
forgiven  me,  I  have  told  her  everything." 

"  You  have  had  a  tiring  journey  ?  "  It  was  so  difficult 
to  dissimulate  with  him. 

"Poor  old  mater !  Now  that  I  know  what  it  is  to  be 
married  myself,  I  am  so  awfully  sorry  for  you.  I  have 
thought  of  it  so  often  lately  .  .  .  you  must  be  beastly 
lonely  at  times.  I  wish  I  had  been  different  to  you.  I 
understand  now  so  much  better  than  I  did.  .  .  ." 

She  could  not  bear  his  self-reproach,  that  he  should 
think  she  missed  David.  She  said  hurriedly : 

"You  have  been  everything  to  me,  all  and  more  than 
a  son  could  be.  You  would  like  to  go  upstairs,  to  see 
what  I  have  arranged  for  you  ?  You  hav8  trie  two  rooms 
over  mine,  the  front  one,  and  the  one  that  was  your 
father's." 

"But  who  will  sleep  next  to  you?" 

"Don't,  Sebastian,  don't !"  she  cried  out.  But  there 
was  little  understanding  of  the  source  of  her  pain. 

He  wanted  to  talk  now,  he  was  eager  to  tell  her  all 
about  it,  and  how  it  had  come  about.  He  said  he  should 
use  his  old  bedroom  as  a  dressing-room,  and  then  they 
could  have  talks  together.  He  made  her  come  upstairs 
with  him  now.  He  had  not  discarded  her,  he  still  needed 
her.  Again  his  arm  went  about  her  waist. 

"I  want  to  tell  you  all  about  everything,"  he  said. 

"Did  the  motor  go  well?" 

Poor  Vanessa,  she  found  words  so  difficult,  tears  so 
hot  behind  her  eyes. 


320  SEBASTIAN 

"I'll  begin  at  the  beginning.  You  haven't  got  any- 
thing else  to  do,  have  you  ?  Sit  with  me  whilst  I  dress." 

All  the  time  he  was  talking,  he  was  changing  his  coat  for 
a  lounge  jacket,  washing  his  hands  and  face,  brushing  his 
hair  before  the  mirror,  interposing  irrelevant  matter 
about  shoes,  the  necessity  of  having  all  his  clothes 
pressed,  and  telling  her  the  number  of  things  he  had 
left  behind  him  at  different  hotels. 

"Pleasey  is  worse  than  I  am,"  he  said,  "she  never 
knows  where  she  has  put  anything,  she  has  left  half  her 
clothes  between  here  and  Zurich !  You  want  to  know 
all  about  everything.  I'll  begin  at  the  beginning.  We 
did  Folkestone  under  the  three  hours,  slowing  down  three 
times  for  police  traps.  He  is  a  wonder,  that  chauffeur 
of  Bob's.  We  had  a  very  good  time  in  Paris,  the  girls 
went  nearly  everywhere  with  us;  not  the  Rat  Mort,  or 
Maxim's,  but  everywhere  else.  We  were  a  party  carr£, 
just  the  right  number.  Bice  amused  Bob,  and  at  first 
she  seemed  to  like  him.  She  did  all  the  talking  in  shops 
and  places,  for  all  of  us.  His  French  is  unspeakable." 

"Unspoken?" 

"No !  that  was  the  worst  of  it."  He  was  as  quick  as 
she  in  realising  he  had  used  the  misappropriate  word. 
"  It's  really  good  to  get  back  to  you !  No,  it  wasn't 
unspoken,  he  liked  airing  it." 

Then  followed  a  description  of  what  they  had  done  in 
Paris,  interspersed  with  splashing,  and  enquiry  for  some 
soap  Vanessa  used  to  get  for  him,  and  which  he  had 
mislaid. 

"We  started  for  Aix,  after  ten  days  in  Paris,  and  there 
was  trouble  with  the  tyres;  we  had  three  punctures 


SEBASTIAN  321 

in  one  afternoon !  The  engine  was  knocking  most  of 
the  time,  and  we  were  running  on  three  cylinders.  ..." 

Now  he  chatted  about  routes,  and  the  French  Touring 
Association,  then  French  inn  accommodation,  price  of 
petrol,  something  about  speedometers. 

"We  got  to  Aix  at  last.  But  nothing  was  going  well. 
Bice  was  sulking  with  Bob  over  something  or  other,  and 
Pleasey  was  awfully  worried  about  it.  Bice  has  always 
had  a  bad  temper,  you  know,  but  she  was  always  all 
right  with  me.  It  was  the  day  we  went  to  the  Grande 
Chartreuse  that  she  really  broke.  You  know  the  Grande 
Chartreuse  ?  —  grey  walls,  grey  corridors,  grey  environ- 
ment, empty,  piteous,  appealing.  Pleasey  and  I  had  a 
jolly  time  there.  We  lunched  at  the  restaurant;  an 
omelette,  veloute  de  veau,  and  souffle  potatoes.  Why 
don't  we  get  that  kind  of  cooking  at  Pangbourne,  or 
anywhere  up  the  river?  We  got  separated  from  the 
others.  I  think  Bob  was  all  along  getting  fond  of  Bice, 
although  Pleasey  said  I  was  quite  wrong.  You  know, 
mater,  Bice  is  pretty  useful;  she  did  the  packing,  and 
unpacking  for  the  lot  of  us.  We  never  lost  a  thing  whilst 
she  was  with  us.  And  she  did  the  catering,  and  looked 
out  all  the  routes.  But  it  seems  there  was  a  'bust  up' 
between  her  and  Bob  on  the  way  home  from  the  Char- 
treuse. She  told  Pleasey  about  it,  and  Pleasey  ragged 
him  properly.  They  had  long  confabs  about  it.  Pleasey 
made  me  leave  them  together,  she  wanted  to  get  at  Bob's 
intentions.  But,  of  course,  he  is  too  old  for  Bice,  not 
quite  .  .  .  well,  I  suppose  he  really  is  not  quite  good 
enough.  Bice  took  against  him,  same  as  you  did,  you 
recollect,  mater?" 


322  SEBASTIAN 

"You  all  went  on  to  Zurich  together?" 

"Yes,  and  that  was  the  end  of  it." 

He  had  finished  dressing ;  he  put  his  arm  in  hers : 

"Come  down  to  the  drawing-room,  I'll  finish  the 
story  there.  We  shall  have  lots  of  time,  Pleasey  is  sure 
to  be  late,  she's  always  late." 

Vanessa  heard  of  Bice's  flight,  and  Pleasey's  distress 
about  it.  Telegrams  were  sent  off,  and  Bob  started 
(as  Bice  had  anticipated)  in  search  of  her  in  the  motor. 
Sebastian  must  look  after  Pleasey,  of  course.  It  was  a 
distressing  position  in  which  the  poor  girl  found  herself. 
Pleasey,  Sebastian  said,  had  scene  after  scene  with  Bob 
over  his  treatment  of  Bice,  trying  to  get  at  the  bottom  of 
it.  Sebastian  really  believed  that  Pleasey's  stormy 
interviews  with  Mr.  Hayling,  from  which  she  ever 
emerged  tear-stained  and  wretched,  were  to  get  a  clue 
to  Bice's  disappearance !  In  the  end  Bob  had  got 
ruffled  by  her  suspicions,  or  her  accusations,  and  had 
started  off  to  England  without  consulting  their  wishes, 
practically  without  giving  them  an  opportunity  of  ac- 
companying him.  Pleasey,  by  then,  Sebastian  said, 
was  quite  unfit  to  travel,  broken  down  by  her  anxieties. 

"You  know,  mater,"  he  said,  as  if  it  were  an  addition 
to  her  charms,  "she  is  awfully  delicate,  the  least  thing 
knocks  her  up,  she  can't  even  pack  for  herself." 

It  was  the  only  time  Vanessa  varied  from  the  course 
of  conduct  she  had  laid  down  for  herself. 

"It  seems,  then,  she  is  utterly  incapable.  What  could 
Stella  have  been  thinking  of  to  entrust  Bice  to  her !"  she 
exclaimed,  not  waiting  to  think,  not  calculating  her 
words. 


SEBASTIAN  323 

He  flushed  with  anger,  or  perhaps  pride. 

"Bice  has  always  looked  after  her;  Aunt  Stella  never 
knew,  but  that  is  how  it  has  always  been.  She  is  really 
only  a  child,  she  is  not  fit  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  — 
and  I  want  to  do  it.  Mater,  I  care  about  her,  I  am  so 
glad  when  she  lets  me  do  things  for  her,  so  proud."  He 
faltered  a  little  on  this  last,  the  tone  of  his  voice  was  a 
revelation  —  a  pain.  "  I  feel  differently  about  her  to 
what  I  have  ever  felt  for  any  one  before.  She  has  had 
such  a  rotten  time.  Old  Pleyden-Carr  is  an  impracticable 
person,  they  have  never  had  any  fixed  home,  she  has  had 
to  work  for  her  living,  been  awfully  poor,  even  hungry." 
His  voice  dropped,  he  broke  off.  In  his  own  way,  he  was 
entreating  his  mother's  sympathy. 

"I  want  her  to  have  a  good  time.  You  have  made 
me  rather  selfish,  mater."  His  tone  grew  tender, 
affectionate,  even.  This  was  not  the  boyish  Sebastian, 
it  seemed  he  had  at  last  grown  to  some  new  manhood. 

"  You  have  always  been  so  good  to  me,  you  and  the 
pater.  And  Pleasey  has  had  nothing !" 

"Would  nothing  less  than  my  son  content  her?" 

"You  will  try  and  care  for  her,  won't  you?  I  —  I 
love  her,  like  the  pater  did  you.  I  know  now  that  he 
never  thought  of  anybody  else,  except,  sometimes  per- 
haps, of  me.  Nothing  was  too  good  for  you;  he  told 
me  once  that  loving  a  woman,  as  he  hoped  I  should  one 
day,  made  one  humble.  I  know  what  he  meant  now. 
He  wasn't  like  other  men.  I  don't  think  I  am,  perhaps, 
but  we  have  both  of  us  been  lucky  in  finding  the  one 
woman." 

She  knew  loyalty  and  fidelity  were  inherent  in  him,  and 


324  SEBASTIAN 

that  it  had  been  so,  too,  with  David.  Perhaps  then,  for 
the  first  time,  she  had  sharp  realisation  of  what  her  in- 
difference might  have  meant  to  her  husband.  Something 
it  seemed  of  retribution,  this  marriage  of  Sebastian's; 
it  made  it  worse,  not  better,  if  he  must  suffer  for  her  sins. 
And  what  but  suffering  must  ensue  of  a  union  between 
the  fine  spirit,  the  strength,  and  brain  power,  of  such  as 
he,  with  the  feeble  personality,  and  thin  incompetency 
she  divined  in  the  wife  that  had  been  foisted  on  him.  It 
all  surged  over  her  as  she  listened  to  him,  the  hopeless- 
ness of  it,  the  irremediableness  of  it. 

Pleasey  was  late.  She  came  in  about  ten  minutes  to 
eight.  The  boy  had  been  listening  for  some  time,  mak- 
ing excuses  for  her  to  his  mother.  Vanessa  liked  an 
orderly  and  punctual  house,  it  was  the  one  excuse  that 
may  be  made  for  any  subsequent  mistake  in  her  treat- 
ment of  Sebastian's  wife,  that  it  was  never  punctual  nor 
orderly  from  the  moment  Pleasey  came  into  it.  To- 
night, perhaps,  was  pardonable,  accounted  for  by  the 
reunion  with  her  family,  and  all  she  must  have  had  to 
tell  them. 

Vanessa  looked  at  her  critically,  when  some  five- 
and-twenty  minutes  late,  the  three  of  them  sat  down 
to  a  spoiled  meal.  She  had  done,  and  said,  the  con- 
ventional thing,  made  her  son's  wife  welcome.  Perhaps 
she  had  regarded  Bice's  companion  with  perfunctory 
interest  until  now.  Now  all  her  heart  was  in  her  eyes. 

Pleasey,  never  very  natural,  had  adopted  a  new 
affectation  with  her  marriage.  Vanessa  heard  the  echo 
of  her  mother's  voice  in  her  italics.  And  all  her  story, 
as  she  spoke  it,  was  tainted  with  poor  untruth. 


SEBASTIAN  325 

After  dinner,  when  they  left  Sebastian  over  his  wine, 
Pleasey  said,  with  an  attempt  at  impulsive  spontaneity : 

"I  think  it  was  perfectly  sweet  of  you  to  let  us  come 
here.  Sebastian  was  so  keen  on  it." 

And  Vanessa,  out  of  the  fulness  of  her  aching  heart, 
asked  a  question.  There  was  only  one  anodyne,  she 
asked  for  it,  almost  humbly: 

"Do  you  care  for  my  boy?" 

"I  simply  adore  him,"  came  unconvincingly. 

It  was  many  months  before  the  climax  was  reached, 
but  the  daily  impossibilities  of  a  life  led  under  one  roof 
for  these  two,  revealed  themselves  from  the  very  begin- 
ning. 

Pleasey  would  not  breakfast  with  Sebastian  and  his 
mother,  neither  would  she,  as  her  hostess  suggested, 
have  her  meal  sent  up  to  her  bedroom.  She  came  down 
when  the  coffee  was  cold,  the  bacon  congested,  and  a 
disorder  of  plates  and  dishes  gave  her  a  familiar  atmos- 
phere. And  then  she  would  have  liked  Vanessa  to  sit 
with  her,  listening  to  aimless,  staccato,  empty  gossip. 
She  had  nothing  to  do,  she  did  nothing.  She  had  no 
hatred  of  her  mother-in-law,  such  as,  unfortunately, 
Vanessa  so  soon  conceived  for  her.  But  all  her  slovenly 
habits  proved  uncongenial,  and  to  play  hostess  to  her, 
be  courteous,  and  not  critical,  became  an  ever  more 
intolerable  burden. 

Pleasey  idled  an  hour  over  her  breakfast;  she  had 
no  appetite,  took  one  thing  or  another  on  her  plate, 
and  left  it  there,  filled  her  cup,  but  forgot  to  drink, 
hindered  the  servants  in  their  duty,  kept  Vanessa  from 
her  desk. 


326  SEBASTIAN 

After  breakfast,  she  sat  on,  doing  nothing,  talking 
about  her  hair,  or  her  dress,  or  some  shopping  she 
must  accomplish,  until  nearly  noon.  At  noon  she 
would  suddenly  discover  she  wanted  something  in  a 
great  hurry.  She  would  "rush  away"  to  dress;  she 
called  it  "rushing,"  but  more  irrelevant  talk  delayed 
her.  She  would  be  something  like  an  hour  adjusting 
her  hat,  preparing  for  the  street,  during  which  time 
Vanessa  sat  thinking  of  her,  in  exasperated  expectancy, 
unable  to  settle  until  she  had  gone.  Then  she  would 
"rush"  in  again,  on  her  way  here,  or  there,  to  enquire 
the  hour  for  lunch,  would  find  she  was  short  of  time, 
and  sit  down,  whilst  a  cab  was  whistled  for  her.  Al- 
though her  admitted  destination  might  be  only  five 
minutes  off,  she  must  have  a  cab.  And  she  never  suc- 
ceeded hi  returning  in  time  for  the  meal.  It  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  until  the  hour  Vanessa's  pa- 
tience broke,  Pleasey  had  never  once  managed  to  sit 
down  to  any  one  meal  at  the  same  moment  as  her 
hostess. 

Of  course,  the  deep  temperamental  differences  be- 
tween the  two  women  was  at  the  root  of  the  trouble. 
Vanessa  was  ever  conscious  of  her  injustice,  of  the 
triviality  of  the  things  she  found  unbearable  in  Sebas- 
tian's wife.  Pleasey  was  conscious  of  nothing,  save  that 
she  had  done  very  well  for  herself. 

It  was  rarely  Sebastian  asked  Pleasey  to  do  any- 
thing for  him,  repair  a  hole  hi  a  torn  dressing-gown, 
put  a  button  on  a  new  glove,  order  hair  lotion,  or  theatre 
tickets.  But  rare  as  they  were,  Pleasey  never  succeeded 
in  executing  them.  She  said,  alternately,  that  she  had 


SEBASTIAN  327 

been  "feeling  so  seedy,"  or  that  she  had  been  "so 
busy."  And  of  course  those  critical  clear  eyes  of 
Vanessa's  saw  that  she  was  never  too  ill  nor  too  tired 
to  shop,  or  dress,  or  amuse  herself,  and  that  she  did 
nothing  whatever  from  morning  until  evening,  for  her 
people,  nor  for  Bice,  nor  for  herself,  except  wear  out 
each  looking-glass  in  the  house  by  her  intent  regard, 
grow  daily  idler,  vainer,  more  extravagant,  and  artificial. 
Vanessa  was  intolerant,  and  critical;  and  "beggar  on 
horseback"  was  the  phrase  that  bored  her  with  its 
recurrent  inevitability. 

As  the  days  wore  on,  Pleasey  grew  indefinitely  aware 
of  Vanessa's  attitude  toward  her,  and  bore  herself  more 
uneasily.  She  ceased  to  use  a  paste  stick  to  her  pale 
lips  when  she  met  Vanessa's  contemptuous  regard, 
even  her  powder-puff  became  something  of  a  surrepti- 
tious indulgence.  Pleasey  was  never  too  delicate  to  try 
on  clothes,  or  trapse  the  streets,  or  park,  decked  in 
showy  finery;  but  to  Vanessa  she  appeared  sickly  and 
unwholesome,  by  dint  of  her  feebleness  of  character. 
It  was  true  that  she  was  amiable,  as  Stella  and  Bice  had 
so  often  repeated.  That  is  to  say,  she  never  argued, 
she  only  cried  when  one  failed  to  admire  a  new  dress, 
or  commend  a  purchase,  when  Sebastian,  overtired, 
would  beg  off  from  a  theatre  or  entertainment,  or 
queried  an  extravagance. 

She  neither  worked,  nor  read,  nor  wrote;  sometimes, 
and  this  but  rarely,  she  scanned  a  novel,  but  it  never 
held  her,  it  lay  in  her  lap  whilst  she  planned  new  cos- 
tumes. She  cared  for  her  body,  that  was  the  begin- 
ning, and  end  of  her  day.  She  lavished  endless  hours 


328  SEBASTIAN 

in  supplementing  nature's  kindness  to  her.  Her  eye- 
lashes blacked,  and  standing  out  stickily,  the  waved 
and  shaded  abundance  of  her  lint  hair,  became  the 
entire  woman  to  Vanessa,  and  Sebastian's  wife  a  mere 
mannequin,  or  less  still,  a  padded  and  wired  dress- 
stand,  surmounted  by  a  hair-dresser's  waxen  face. 
Mechanically  Vanessa  found  herself  watching  to  see  her 
fade. 

And,  as  Pleasey  became  more  and  more  conscious  of 
Vanessa's  attitude  towards  her,  she  exhibited  herself 
always  less  attractively.  She  evaded  t&te-b-t&tes  now, 
and  came  in,  and  went  out,  unpunctually,  with  little 
lying  excuses. 

Her  untruthfulness  was  ingrain,  it  seemed  to  Vanessa 
to  make  all  conversation  impossible.  If  she  were  asked 
casually  if  she  had  been  shopping,  she  would  say  "No," 
and  ten  minutes  afterwards  would  talk  of  her  purchases. 
If  she  said  she  had  been  in  the  West  End,  it  almost 
certainly  turned  out  that  she  had  been  seen  hi  the 
East. 

Vanessa  spoke  to  Sebastian  once  about  this  untruth- 
fulness.  It  was  slow  in  dawning  upon  him  that  his 
mother  and  his  wife  were  uncongenial.  It  was  possible 
that  by  this  time  his  wife  had  also  made  her  comment. 

"Well,  mater,  you  ought  not  to  question  her !  She  is 
nervous  with  you.  She  does  not  know  what  you  are 
trying  to  get  at." 

"But  why  should  I  be  trying  to  get  at  anything? 
I  want  nothing  except  that  you  should  be  happy;  but 
can  you,  or  any  one,  be  happy  with  a  woman  upon 
whose  lightest  word  you  cannot  rely?  I  think  you 


SEBASTIAN  329 

might  suggest  this  to  her !  I  won't  say  anything  more, 
perhaps  I  should  not  have  said  so  much.  But  I  wish 
you  would  beg  her  not  to  tell  me  these  silly  little  lies. 
I  am  trying  to  carry  out  your  wishes.  I  try  to  talk  to 
her,  but  she  cannot  even  concentrate  her  mind  to 
answer  consistently !  She  grows  vaguer,  and  vaguer, 
and  repeats  her  '  Oh !  really,'  until  the  mere  iteration 
paralyses  my  brain.  She  wanders  from  any  of  the 
things  in  which  I  try  to  interest  her,  to  the  size  of  her 
waist,  the  condition  of  her  hair,  her  dress,  or  some  new 
scent " 

"Mater,  you  know  you  don't  mean  what  you  are 
saying.  She  is  all  right  with  me.  You  don't  under- 
stand her,  she  is  nervous  with  you.  The  pater  used 
to  be  the  same." 

He  did  his  best  to  make  the  home  life  pleasant  or 
possible,  poor  boy,  wavering  neither  in  love  nor  loyalty, 
to  either  wife  or  mother.  He  was  going  through  a 
hard  and  difficult  time  in  the  City.  Trouble  had  been 
waiting  for  him,  and  he  braced  himself  to  meet  it. 
Already  he  had  thanked  Vanessa  for  her  loan,  for  what 
she  had  done  for  him  in  his  absence.  He  had  been 
diffident  in  asking  if  she  minded  that  the  repayment 
should  be  left  over  for  the  present.  He  admitted  diffi- 
culties, but  said  they  would  be  overcome.  He  was 
obviously  full  of  cares,  working  eight  and  ten  hours  a 
day.  Pleasey  yawned  and  found  the  evenings  dull. 
Every  single  day,  she  went  out,  to  spend  in  extravagant 
gew-gaws,  for  the  adornment  of  her  person,  the  money 
he  worked  so  hard  to  gain.  Always  Vanessa's  resent- 
ment of  her  grew.  She  was  so  unnecessary,  her  staccato 


330  SEBASTIAN 

speech  so  hollow  and  mechanical.  These  months  were 
full  of  a  sense  of  foreboding,  of  mental  discomfort,  and 
of  incidents,  like  blind  alleys,  that  seemed  to  lead  no- 
where. Sebastian's  wife  had  no  sympathy  nor  under- 
standing of  Sebastian's  anxieties,  she  had  no  interest 
beyond  fashion  plates  and  unguents.  She  was  a  strange, 
unnatural  intruder  into  strenuous  lives. 

Stella,  whose  society  was  the  one  haven  of  refuge 
Vanessa  had  from  the  home  permeated  by  Pleasey's 
clothes  and  person,  the  mental  and  moral  twilight  of 
her  atmosphere,  tried  to  make  her  sister  look  more 
leniently  on  the  disastrous  marriage.  It  was  Stella's 
state  of  health,  by  the  way,  that  had  been  the  burden 
of  Vanessa's  last  letter  to  Joe  Wallingford.  She  told 
him  what  he  wished  was  yet  impossible,  notwithstand- 
ing Sebastian's  marriage.  Wait,  was  what  he  read  be- 
tween the  lines  of  finality,  and  he  had  infinite  patience. 
He  ignored  his  dismissal,  he  asked  her  of  the  business. 
She  had  nothing  to  tell  him,  the  boy  had  told  her  noth- 
ing; he  was  working  very  hard. 

She  was  glad  he  did  not  attempt  to  reverse  her  deci- 
sion, yet  still  wrote  to  her.  He  stood  beyond  the  dis- 
tress and  uneasiness  of  her  days  like  firm  ground  beyond 
quicksand.  She  saw  no  way  to  get  to  it,  engulfment 
and  disaster  were  at  her  feet,  but  beyond,  out  of  reach, 
hopeless  of  attainment,  was  solid  earth  and  safety. 

Stella  was  sympathetic,  in  her  own  way,  of  the  minor 
troubles;  they  became  minor  in  Stella's  sick-room. 

"You  take  her  wrongly,"  she  said,  wearily,  "you 
don't  see  her  good  points.  She  is  pretty,  and  amiable, 
and  the  boy  adores  her.  She  looks  well  in  her  clothes, 


SEBASTIAN  331 

and  will  look  better  in  better  clothes.  What  more  do 
you  want?" 

"Qualities,  capacity.  I  should  like  her  simple, 
sincere,  truthful;  even  if  she  is  without  ideals." 

"Hasn't  she  ideals?    How  do  you  know?" 

"I  have  never  heard  her  serious  and  concentrated 
but  once,  and  then  she  said :  '  I'd  give  anything  on  earth 
for  a  long  ermine  coat !  Do  you  think  I'll  ever  have 
an  ermine  coat,  Sebastian?'" 

''Well,  she  would  look  better  in  it  than  any  one  else; 
why  shouldn't  she  want  an  ermine  cloak?  You  can't 
complain  of  want  of  simplicity  in  her  expression  of  her 
wishes.  Put  her  in  a  Paquin  get-up,  with  a  bunch  of 
gardenias,  or  violets,  at  her  waist,  and  let  her  wander 
up  and  down  Bond  Street,  looking  into  the  shop-win- 
dows, and  she  will  be  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long,  and 
surely  she  will  not  be  in  your  way.  You  don't  want 
to  walk  up  and  down  Bond  Street,  do  you?" 

"She  will  be  happy  until  she  sees  something  she 
cannot  afford,"  Vanessa  interpolated,  bitterly,  "  and 
then  she  will  buy  it,  nevertheless,  and  try  it  on  before 
every  glass  in  the  house." 

All  the  things  that  irritated  Vanessa  seemed  so  small 
to  Stella. 

"Does  it  matter?  It  seems  to  me,  these  days,  that 
nothing  matters.  I  have  worried  over  so  many  things. 
And  now  they  all  seem  trivial." 

She  had  lived  her  years,  unsafely,  in  the  haunted 
shadows  that  veil  the  figure  of  naked  shame.  And  the 
fear  that  had  shaken  her  heart  was  lest  the  veil  should 
be  rent  asunder  by  pitiless  hands,  and  the  figure  be 


332  SEBASTIAN 

betrayed  to  the  incredulous,  and  horrified,  eyes  of  the 
two  who  loved  her.  What  were  any  troubles  in  com- 
parison with  what  she  had  gone  through?  But  it  was 
nearly  over,  the  time  had  nearly  come  for  frankness. 

"  I  hate  you  to  be  annoyed,  but  I  really  think  you  are 
taking  this  too  seriously.  It  was  not  probable  you 
would  have  liked  any  one  Sebastian  selected." 

"I  would  have  cared  for  anybody  that  cared  for  him. 
I  would  have  left  him  in  any  hands  that  moved  about 
him  lovingly,"  Vanessa  said,  passionately. 

Stella  looked  at  her  enquiringly. 

"Left  him,  left  him?" 

"  Joe  Wallingford " 

"Oh!" 

"But  how  can  I  leave  him?  She  does  not  care  if  he 
be  well  or  ill.  He  had  a  headache  one  night,  and  she 
said  vaguely,  when  he  told  her,  'Poor  darling.'  Then 
there  was  quiet ;  it  was  after  dinner,  and  he  lay  on  the 
sofa.  I  hoped  he  would  fall  asleep.  You  know  he  has 
always  had  these  headaches,  and  just  now  he  is  overwork- 
ing himself.  He  was  looking  a  trifle  better,  his  breath- 
ing deeper,  as  if  he  were  easier,  growing  drowsy,  when 
her  staccato  voice  roused  him,  roused  us  both : 

"'Sebastian,  did  I  tell  you?  I  saw  such  an  exquisite 
gold  bag  at  Phillips's  to-day.  I  must  have  a  gold  bag, 
every  one  has  one.  This  is  all  wrinkled  and  full,  little 
diamonds  and  rubies  in  the  chains.  .  .  .'  He  roused 
himself,  his  rest  was  broken.  But  what  did  she  care? 
She  had  forgotten  he  had  a  headache.  And  then,  when 
he  said  wearily,  that  he  supposed  it  was  'expensive/  and 
money  was  tight,  and  wouldn't  she  wait,  she,  she  begged 


SEBASTIAN  333 

for  it !  Neither  dignitj^  nor  his  condition,  nor  my 
presence  restrained  her.  She  wanted  it,  'Pleasey  wants 
it/  she  begged,  with  an  affectation  of  childishness.  It 
turned  out  afterwards  she  had  actually  sent  it  home ! 
She  said  it  was  for  him  to  see,  but  of  course  she  had 
bought  it.  She  has  inherited  the  paternal,  or  maternal, 
notions  of  honour.  My  boy  went  so  white.  'The  throb- 
bing has  come  back,  mater/  he  said  to  me.  'Can't  you 
get  me  anything,  phenacetin,  or  something  ? '  Oh  !  it  is 
piteous,  piteous  to  see  how  little  she  cares  for  anything 
but  herself!  And  I,  it  seems  to  me  I  never  cared  so 
much  for  him  as  now,  nor  in  the  same  way.  There  are 
times  when  I  don't  know  how  to  bear  the  way  she  be- 
haves." 

"You  ought  to  leave  them  to  each  other." 
"And  know  him  without  companionship,  in  bondage 
to  a  doll."  And  then  came  the  final  cry :  "Living,  side 
by  side,  with  a  light  woman  who  does  not  even  know 
that  he  is  in  difficulties,  nor  care  to  help  him  through 
them,  who  will  always  be  a  burden,  and  never  a  help- 
mate." 

Vanessa  knew  it,  she  could  not  shut  out  the  knowledge 
that  was  borne  in  upon  her  all  the  time.  He  would  not 
speak  to  her  of  what  was  amiss.  But,  at  last,  they  were 
real  mother-eyes  that  watched,  eyes  cleared  by  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

AFTERWARDS  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  troubles  came  at 
once,  the  blind  alleys  converging,  and  opening  on  to 
one  waste  space.  The  very  afternoon  that  she  voiced 
her  troubles  to  Stella,  and  Stella  had  made  light  of  them, 
Sebastian  came  home  early  from  the  City,  and  went  at 
once  to  his  room;  the  room  that  was  peculiarly  his, 
next  to  her  own. 

She  entered  the  hall,  with  heavy  heart,  to  hear  that 
"Mr.  Sebastian  came  home  with  a  bad  headache,  he 
would  be  glad  if  you  would  go  up  to  him  when  you  came 
in." 

Pleasey  had  been  in,  but  had  gone  out  again,  leaving 
no  message. 

Sebastian  was  lying  on  the  bed,  fully  dressed ;  he  saw 
his  mother  come  in,  but  did  not  rise,  nor,  for  the  mo- 
ment, speak.  The  afternoon  sun  was  flooding  the  room ; 
the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  pull  down  the  blinds,  very 
quietly.  If  he  were  ill,  or  in  trouble,  the  dark  was  best. 
Then  she  sat  down  by  the  bedside.  She  put  an  unaccus- 
tomed finger  on  his  pulse,  then  her  hand  on  his  forehead. 

"I'm  not  ill,"  he  said. 

"Thank  God  for  that." 

"I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you." 

She  found  his  hand  again,  and  held  it;  it  was  quite 
dusk  in  the  room. 

334 


SEBASTIAN  335 

"I've  made  a  hopeless  muddle  of  everything." 

"Not  of  everything,  dear."  How  dear  he  was  to  her, 
how  dear !  She  wished  she  could  tell  him. 

"I  meant  to  make  you  rich,  it  was  never  for  myself  I 
wanted  money." 

"I  know." 

"Now  I  can't  see  my  way."  He  had  rolled  over  on 
the  pillow,  discarding  her  hand,  his  voice  came  muffled. 
"Don't  go  away.  I  want  to  tell  you.  I  never  thought 
it  possible  anything  could  go  wrong.  Business  was 
widening  and  broadening  all  the  time.  We  had  three 
hundred  and  seventy  accounts  in  the  pater's  time;  I've 
got  nearly  three  thousand  now.  The  new  mills  are 
finished,  and  I  was  right  after  all  about  the  cornstalks, 
the  pulp  is  the  very  thing  for  the  'feather-weight.' 
We've  worked  it  all  up.  Everything  looked  flourishing 
when  I  went  away." 

"What  has  happened,  tell  me?" 

"Everything,  the  unexpected." 

He  got  off  the  bed  now,  then  sat  down,  weakly,  on  the 
side  of  it.  "I  have  been  fighting  ill-luck  ever  since  I 
came  back;  to-day  has  been  simply  awful.  I  could  not 
stand  the  City  any  more,  I  came  home.  My  head  is 
only  a  machine  for  aching.  I  couldn't  use  it  to  think." 

"How  long  have  you  been  home?" 

"About  half  an  hour.  Those  blinds  were  a  good  idea 
of  yours,  I  can  bear  it  better  now." 

"Lie  down  again.     I  will  bring  you  some  phenacetin." 

"What  is  the  good  of  drugging  myself?  I've  got  to 
see  it  through.  Mater,  what  a  conceited  young  ass  you 
must  have  thought  me  all  the  time ! " 


336  SEBASTIAN 

"I?" 

"Well,  it  is  the  truth.  I  thought  I  knew  a  thousand 
times  more  than  the  pater,  that  I  could  keep  on  our 
specialities,  run  the  agencies,  manufacture  the  'feather- 
weight/ be  independent  of  the  Association.  Nobody 
knew,  or  guessed,  all  that  I  was  doing,  not  even  in  the 
office.  Then  came  that  breakdown  of  mine,  and  having 
to  be  away." 

She  sat  quietly  on  in  her  chair  by  the  bed.  It  was 
only  money,  he  was  not  ill,  that  would  have  been  un- 
bearable. 

"Cannot  I  help?  There  are  still  more  securities,  or 
they  could  be  sold.  There  are  Stella's,  too.  Stella 
would  do  anything  for  either  of  us." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  drag  anybody  down  with  me,  least 
of  all  you  two.  I  wish  now  I  had  never  touched  your 
capital." 

"What  is  mine  is  yours." 

"You  don't  understand,  mater.  I'm  up  to  my  neck, 
I  don't  know  where  to  turn.  I  had  a  mortgage  on  the 
mills,  and  the  mortgagees  have  given  notice  to  call  it  in. 
That  was  the  first  thing  after  I  got  to  the  City  yesterday 
morning.  I  didn't  tell  you,  I  thought  I  could  transfer 
it,  I  still  think  I  can.  Then  you  know  we  do  a  very  big 
business  with  Hayling's  firm;  they've  got  some  bills  of 
ours " 

"But  Mr.  Hayling!  surely  Mr.  Hayling  would  not 
press  you?" 

"He  has  a  partner,  a  dead  nailer.  It  looks  as  if  they 
have  got  to  know  I  am  in  a  mess  for  money.  Yet  how 
could  they  have  got  to  know?  The  raw  material  keeps 


SEBASTIAN  337 

pouring  in,  one  thousand  pounds'  worth  yesterday,  and 
the  shippers  have  drawn  on  us  at  sight.  I  had  to  get  the 
money  from  somewhere,  so  I  asked  Bob's  partner  if  he 
would  renew  one  of  our  bills.  But  instead  of  doing  it  as 
a  matter  of  course,  he  made  a  fuss  about  it.  He  funked 
me,  mater.  What  could  they  have  heard?  Excepting 
to  Pleasey,  I  haven't  breathed  a  word  how  I  was  placed." 

"You  told  Pleasey?" 

"She  wanted  a  pair  of  ear-rings  she  saw,  old  ones, 
Brazilian  diamonds,  she  looked  beautiful  in  them.  I 
seem  always  to  be  saying  '  No '  to  her.  Poor  girl !  I 
had  to  explain  I  was  in  a  tight  place  —  it  is  rotten  luck 
on  her!" 

Then  the  natural  bent  of  his  nature  began  to  assert 
itself.  His  aching  head  had  become  easier  in  the  quiet 
room,  tea  was  brought  to  him.  Depression,  the  imp  that 
lies  in  ambush  for  all  young  optimists,  had  leaped  on 
him,  and  fastened  its  claws  in  the  softness  of  his  mood. 
Now  he  made  an  effort  to  throw  it  off. 

"It  is  overtrading,  nothing  worse  than  that.  I  am 
full  up  to  the  eyes  with  schemes  and  business;  they  are 
all  good.  I  swear  I  have  not  made  one  mistake.  I  may 
have  produced  too  much  of  the  'feather-weight,'  per- 
haps; but  I  can  place  that  if  I  have  time.  It  is  only 
capital  of  which  I  am  so  desperately  short.  If  I  could 
get  hold  of  twenty  thousand  pounds  at  once  —  even  ten 
would  tide  me  over.  Do  you  know  anybody  with  a  liquid 
ten  thousand?" 

"Hilary  St.  Maur?"  she  suggested,  after  a  moment's 
thought. 

"He  is  chairman  of  the  Mortgagee  Association,  and 


338  SEBASTIAN 

they  would  not  want  a  registered  debenture.  Besides, 
no  one  on  earth  must  know,  it  would  be  fatal.  We 
should  have  all  our  creditors  on  us  at  once.  Our  agen- 
cies would  be  jeopardised.  The  whole  position  is  crit- 
ical, it  is  like  a  new  business  I  have  built  up.  If  our 
competitors  got  to  know  the  position  we  are  in  they 
could  do  us  no  end  of  harm.  Credit  is  the  very  life  of 
the  concern,  a  breath  on  it  spells  ruin." 

Something  —  she  did  not  know  what  —  prevented 
her,  at  that  moment,  uttering  Joe  Wallingford's  name. 

"Say  something,  even  if  it  is  only  to  tell  me  what  an 
ass  I  have  been;  what  an  overwhelming,  conceited  fool ! 
And  yet,  I  have  been  right.  I  have  got  a  twelfth  of  the 
whole  trade  of  the  United  Kingdom;  outside  the  news- 
papers, I  mean,  and  wall-paper  trust.  It  is  nothing 
going  to  break  me  now  but  want  of  capital." 

Vanessa  tried  to  follow  him  as  he  went  into  figures 
and  calculations.  He  showed  her  that  fortune  waited 
for  him,  round  the  corner,  and  that  only  the  obstructing 
void  at  the  bank  made  it  impossible  to  turn  it.  She 
believed  in  him  implicitly,  she  said,  and  that  raised  his 
courage.  They  soon  began  to  persuade  each  other 
that  things  must  come  right. 

"How  about  Mr.  Wallingford,  Joe  Wallingford?" 
She  hesitated,  but  went  on:  "Would  you  mind  his 
knowing?  He  is  a  good  friend  of  mine,  and  of  yours." 

"He  does  a  little  with  us.  He  would  never  do  an- 
other stroke  if  he  thought  we  were  shaky." 

"You  wrong  him  there,"  she  answered,  quickly.  But 
he  would  not  have  it. 

"I  know  him  better  than  you  do,  mater.     He  will 


SEBASTIAN  339 

crow  over  me ;  he  has  always  said  I  was  going  too  fast. 
No !  I  won't  have  any  interference  from  Wallingford." 

If  Stella  were  not  so  critical  of  Sebastian,  so  naturally 
satirical  about  his  talents !  She  knew  that  whatever 
Stella  had,  she  would  lend  to  her,  or  to  the  boy. 

"It  all  seemed  to  come  over  me  at  once.  Panic  is 
the  word,  I  got  into  a  panic.  And  then  a  number  of 
little  things  happened.  Spurlings  cancelled  an  order, 
we  made  a  big  bad  debt,  one  of  our  best  travellers 
gave  notice.  I  am  getting  better  now,  you  have  done 
me  good.  I'm  afraid  I  frightened  Pleasey's  life  out  of 
her,  coming  in  as  I  did.  My  head  was  splitting,  I  saw 
nothing  but  ruin  before  us.  Kendalls  in  the  Bank- 
ruptcy Court !  I  don't  know  what  got  hold  of  me. 
Suddenly  everything  went  black." 

"  Pleasey  was  .at  home  ?  " 

"I  met  her  in  the  hall.  She  was  just  going  out,  I 
talked  blue  ruin,  wildly.  I  could  hardly  see  to  get  up- 
stairs, it  was  the  worst  sort  of  pain." 

"She  went  out  all  the  same?" 

"I  daresay  she  thought  I  would  be  best  alone.  You 
recollect  the  pater  liked  to  be  alone  when  he  had  his 
headaches?" 

Had  he?  Had  he?  Memories,  like  winged  insects, 
set  about  her,  stung  her. 

"Pleasey  will  not  mind  if  we  have  got  to  pull  in  a 
bit.  She  has  never  had  any  money,  she  has  often 
said  she  doesn't  care  about  money.  The  way  she  buys 
things  is  nothing,  she  is  like  a  child  with  a  hole  in  its 
pocket.  One  gets  that  way  if  there  has  never  been 
anything  regular;  it  doesn't  seem  worth  while  to  try 


340  SEBASTIAN 

and  save  on  an  income  of  a  fiver  to-day,  and  nothing 
to-morrow!  You  could  help  her  more  than  you  do, 
mater,  help  both  of  us." 

He  could  not  know  how  his  mother  felt  toward  the 
girl  he  had  married. 

"I  know  you  have  done  a  lot,  the  trousseau,  and 
everything."  Indeed  Vanessa  had  paid,  and  paid,  and 
paid;  and  yet  heard  Pleasey  beg  from  Sebastian,  hu- 
miliating both  of  them.  "You  have  always  been  won- 
derful about  money,  it  is  that  that  breaks  me  —  your 
great  trust  in  me,  the  way  you  left  everything  in  my 
hands,  all  that  the  pater  meant  for  you.  That  is  where 
I  got  frightened.  Not  that  it  isn't  safe " 

His  eyes  sought  hers,  entreated  her.  "It  is  that 
that  breaks  me,"  he  said,  again.  "I  am  in  an  awful 
funk,  panic  if  you  like  to  call  it.  I  can't  have  muddled 
things  past  help,  I  can't  have,  mumsy,"  the  old  name 
came  to  his  lips,  "tell  me  it  is  only  this  beastly  head- 
ache. Things  could  not  have  looked  so  right,  and  sud- 
denly gone  so  wrong.  The  stock  is  good,  the  book 
debts  sound,  the  mortgage  secured." 

How  she  wished  she  knew  the  language  he  was  speak- 
ing. But  her  faith  in  him  never  wavered,  and  that 
steadied  him  again  when  the  fresh  paroxysm  had  passed. 
He  was  only  twenty-one,  little  more  than  a  boy,  and 
his  responsibilities,  of  which  he  had  been  so  proud, 
now  crushed  down  upon  him. 

She  lent  him  her  strength  and  courage,  they  were 
his  birthright,  her  calm  certainty  of  faith  in  him  soothed 
him,  her  capacity  growing  with  his  need. 

He  had  worked  himself  into  fever.     It  was  with  diffi- 


SEBASTIAN  341 

culty  that  she  persuaded  him  presently  to  undress  and 
go  properly  to  bed.  She  said  she  would  see  Pleasey, 
and  explain,  she  would  undertake  his  wife  should  not 
be  unduly  alarmed  about  him.  She  even  got  him  to 
swallow  the  cachet  of  phenacetin,  she  dared  to  tell  him 
it  was  that,  yet  substituted  veronal,  a  light  sleeping 
powder.  He  must  have  rest,  sleep.  Meanwhile  she 
must  think,  work  for  him,  plan. 

She  had  not  got  very  far,  either  with  working  or 
planning,  when  Pleasey  came  home.  The  two  ought 
not  to  have  been  together  at  such  a  juncture,  it  was 
too  much  to  expect  of  any  woman,  even  of  Vanessa 
Kendall. 

"I  am  sorry  I'm  late." 

She  glanced  into  the  drawing-room,  she  was  still  in 
her  afternoon  clothes,  looking  very  smart,  the  grub  of 
Bice's  governess  had  developed  into  a  very  butterfly 
as  Sebastian's  wife.  It  did  not  matter  to  her  who 
paid  for  her  clothes,  or  if  they  were  unpaid  for,  so  long 
as  she  got  new  clothes.  She  was  greedy  for  them,  she 
could  never  have  enough,  it  was  an  obsession,  ever 
growing,  a  very  madness  of  greed.  "I  have  had  to 
try  that  velours  gris  of  mine  on  to-day.  I  am  tired  to 
death.  I  stood  for  nearly  an  hour.  You  don't  know 
how  tall  it  makes  me  look  !  And  now  my  waist  is  only 
eighteen  and  a  half  inches.  Isn't  that  good  news?" 

"Sebastian  has  gone  to  bed  with  a  headache,"  Vanessa 
began,  coldly. 

"A  headache!  How  awful,  poor  darling!  But  we 
are  going  to  the  Alstons'  to-night.  I  told  Mason," 
Mason  was  Vanessa's  maid,  "I  told  Mason  to  put  out 


342  SEBASTIAN 

my  mauve.  I  wonder  whether  you  would  lend  me  your 
amethysts?  Sebastian  will  be  all  right  after  dinner,  I 
suppose !  It  doesn't  begin  until  ten ;  we  needn't  get 
there  until  half-past.  I  mean  the  amethyst  necklace. 
But  it  would  be  simply  darling  of  you,  if  I  could  have 
the  brooches  as  well." 

Vanessa  kept  herself  fairly  well  in  hand. 

"He  will  be  quite  unable  to  go  out  to-night.  He 
was  ill  when  he  came  home  this  afternoon." 

"Oh,  yes,  poor  darling.  I  quite  forgot."  Pleasey 
was  always  vague  about  other  people.  "He  said  he 
had  lost  a  lot  of  money,  or  something  like  that.  But 
I  knew  about  it  all  along,  there  is  nothing  new  to-day, 
is  there?  I  really  must  go,  it's  half-past  seven  now. 
Shall  I  dine  in  a  tea-gown,  and  dress  afterwards?  Is 
Sebastian  in  the  bedroom?" 

"No,  in  his  dressing-room." 

"I'm  so  glad.  I  should  have  hated  to  disturb 
him.  Bob  said  yesterday  that  he  was  looking  seedy 
again." 

Vanessa  felt  a  little  cold  shiver;  a  chill. 

"Bob?"  she  said,  "Bob?"  as  if  uncertain  who  the 
other  meant. 

"Bob  Hayling.  I  had  tea  with  him  at  the  Carlton 
yesterday.  He  said  Sebastian  didn't  seem  like  him- 
self, as  if  married  life  was  not  agreeing  with  him!" 
She  actually  tittered.  Vanessa's  self-control  was  al- 
most at  breaking-point.  "I  said  it  was  nothing  to  do 
with  me;  he  was  bothered  about  money,  about  not 
being  able  to  meet  some  bills.  I  said  that  was  all  that 
was  the  matter  with  Sebastian." 


SEBASTIAN  343 

"You  told  him  that?" 

Of  course  she  had  told  him  that,  loosened  the  ava- 
lanche under  which  the  boy  lay  crushed!  Vanessa 
could  not  speak  for  the  moment,  she  was  so  over- 
whelmed by  indignation,  rage.  And  before  words  came, 
Pleasey  had  left  the  room. 

She  came  down  to  dinner,  when  soup  had  been  twenty 
minutes  on  the  table,  her  lint  hair  admirably  disposed, 
the  amethyst  brooch  supporting  a  violet  aigrette.  She 
had  on  a  white  crepe-de-chine  tea-gown,  and  another 
amethyst  brooch  held  together  the  folds. 

"I  am  so  sorry  I  am  late.  Mason  was  so  long  over 
my  hair,  I  told  her  you  said  I  might  have  the  brooches. 
You  did  say  so,  didn't  you?  I  said  she  was  to  leave 
Sebastian  quite  alone  until  half-past  nine.  He  will 
have  had  a  good  sleep  by  then.  He  can  dress  in  half 
an  hour." 

"John,"  said  Vanessa,  dangerously  calm,  "tell  Mason 
she  is  not  to  go  near  Mr.  Sebastian,  no  one  is  to  go  near 
him.  You  understand?" 

"Yes,  'm." 

Pleasey  looked  up,  she  flushed  a  little,  half  opened 
her  feeble  mouth,  as  if  to  speak,  thought  better  of  it, 
and  said  nothing.  From  time  to  time,  as  that  now 
silent  dinner  made  its  slow  uncomfortable  progress,  she 
glanced  surreptitiously  at  Vanessa's  face,  set,  angry,  or 
contemptuous,  wholly  uncongenial. 

Vanessa  could  wait,  now,  until  dessert  was  on  the 
table,  and  the  servants  out  of  the  room.  Pleasey 
would  not  rebel  against  her  ruling  that  Sebastian  must 
be  left  undisturbed,  she  was  as  incapable  of  riot  or  re- 


344  SEBASTIAN 

bellion  as  a  sheep;  she  could  scurry  this  way  and  that 
if  she  were  prodded,  but  she  could  not  butt  back. 

"You  don't  think  Sebastian  is  really  ill?"  she  asked, 
propitiatingly.  "He  was  at  the  office  all  day.  Bob 
said- 

"You  met  Mr.  Hayling  again  to-day?" 

"He  motored  me  to  Wimbledon.  There  was  no 
harm  in  that,  was  there?" 

"And  did  you  tell  him  any  more  of  your  husband's 
secrets?" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

Then  the  storm  broke,  Vanessa  could  contain  her 
feelings  no  longer.  Perhaps  much  that  she  said  was 
over-harsh,  bearing  in  view  that  she  had  no  argument 
to  encounter,  and  no  defence.  Perhaps  she  might  have 
omitted  to  remind  her  son's  wife  that,  even  as  she  had 
betrayed  Sebastian's  secrets  to  Robert  Hayling,  so  had 
her  mother  ruined  the  diplomatic  career  of  Ambrose 
Pleyden-Carr.  Every  biting  word  was  true,  that  they 
sank  into  the  nebulous  resilence  of  Pleasey's  conscious- 
ness stifled,  without  falsifying,  them. 

"He  took  you  practically  from  the  gutter,  you  were 
without  clothes,  or  means,  or  character.  He  set  you 
on  the  throne  of  his  great  heart,  and  you  drum  your 
light  heels  against  it,  like  a  ballet  girl." 

"You  are  very  unkind."  Pleasey  soon  began  to  sob. 
She  dabbed  her  eyes  with  her  lace-edged  handkerchief. 
She  looked  to  see  if  the  black  had  come  off  her  eye- 
lashes. Even  then  she  wondered  feebly,  how  it  was 
that  nobody  could  invent  an  eyelash  dye  that  was  fast. 
"I  don't  know  what  I've  done,  you  never  did  like  me." 


SEBASTIAN  345 

"  Like  you  !  Like  you  !  Who  could  like  you,  except 
my  poor  besotted  boy.  What  is  there  in  you,  or  of 
you,  to  excite  any  emotion  but  contempt?  You  don't 
work  with  your  hands,  or  brain,  or  heart.  You  can- 
not help  having  feeble  brain  power,  and  limited  ca- 
pacity of  feeling,  but  you  have  hands !  Mason  takes 
hours  a  day  mending  your  laces,  your  torn  clothes  that 
lie  about  your  untidy  room,  putting  ribbons  into  your 
extravagant,  flimsy  underclothes.  You  give  more 
trouble  in  this  house  than  three  decent  women.  You 
are  disorderly  in  your  habits,  unprincipled  in  your  ex- 
travagances, selfish  to  the  last  degree !  Four  or  five 
solid  hours  every  day  you  spend  before  your  glass ! 
And  what  do  you  see  there  ?  A  doll  face,  vacuous,  not 
worth  the  labour  you  spend  on  its  adornment." 

"Sebastian  thinks  I  am  pretty." 

"He  also  thinks  you  loyal,  honest." 

She  dried  her  eyes,  she  tried  to  be  indignant. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  honest?  I  —  I  won't  be 
insulted." 

"You  will  listen  until  I  have  finished,  you  can  think 
it  over  afterwards.  I  have  had  it  in  my  mind  ever  since 
you  have  been  in  the  house  to  show  you  to  yourself  as 
you  are.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  technical  honesty,  it 
is  possible  you  have  not  yet  transgressed  its  laws.  But 
when  your  husband,  who  is  also  your  benefactor,  your 
protector,  and  your  lover,  is  ill  and  in  trouble,  you  spend 
his  money  recklessly,  you  go  out  to  tea  with  his  trade 
rival,  all  powdered  and  painted " 

"I  don't  paint,  it  isn't  true,  I  don't." 

"You  are  rouged,  your  lips  are  daubed  with  paste, 


346  SEBASTIAN 

your  eyelashes  are  blacked.  However  slightly,  and 
cleverly  you  do  all  these  things,  in  the  long  hours  you 
devote  to  them,  any  intelligent  person  can  see  it  is  art, 
not  nature,  that  supplies  colour  to  your  albinoism.  You 
dally  with  this  man  in  public  places,  betraying  your 
husband's  confidences,  disloyal " 

"I  did  not  know  it  was  a  secret  that  Sebastian  was 
short  of  money.  How  should  I  know  it  was  a  secret? 
We  were  talking  about  those  ear-rings.  Mr.  Hayling 
said  he  made  sure  Sebastian  would  have  given  them  to 
me.  I  have  never  said  a  word  against  Sebastian,  it  is 
not  true  what  you  say  of  me.  You  have  made  me  look 
a  perfect  sight,  my  eyes  are  all  red.  I  don't  know  what 
the  Alstons  will  think " 

"You  will  go  to  this  ball!" 

She  was  in  a  hurry  to  escape  out  of  the  room,  she  had 
been  in  a  hurry  all  the  time.  It  was  Pleasey's  way,  it 
was  the  Pleyden-Carrs'  characteristic  way,  to  hurry 
from  unpleasantness,  to  hide  it  shakily,  gloze  it  over, 
pretend  it  was  not  there. 

"I  am  not  sure  now,  I  feel  quite  ill.  I  must  go  up- 
stairs, you  have  been  very  unkind  to  me,"  she  got  away 
as  soon  as  she  could,  holding  her  handkerchief  to  her 
smudged  eyes. 

But  it  was  Vanessa  who  was  the  more  shaken,  the  more 
agitated,  by  what  had  passed.  Anger  was  so  rare  with 
her,  hot,  articulate  anger  like  this  had  never  before 
assailed  her.  It  had  overleaped  the  bounds  of  hospi- 
tality, of  something  more,  of  the  respect  that  was  due 
to  Sebastian's  wife,  because  she  was  his  wife.  Some- 
thing of  Vanessa's  own  self-respect  suffered  through  her 


SEBASTIAN  347 

candour.  Hatred  was  so  rare,  so  unknown  to  her. 
Everything  about  her  was  black  and  bitter  through 
its  expression.  She  had  darkened  the  waters  of  inter- 
course by  this  emission,  and  was  ashamed,  humiliated, 
unhappy. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

IT  was  then  Bice  telephoned  her  mother  was  worse 
to-night,  was  desperately  ill.  Could  Aunt  Vanessa 
come  over  at  once  ? 

It  was  from  herself  that  Vanessa  was  so  glad  to  escape. 
She  reiterated  her  orders  that  no  one  must  disturb  Mr. 
Sebastian.  She  could  not  bear  to  think  she  might  have 
hurt  him  through  his  unworthy  wife.  She  had  never 
been  so  at  war  with  herself,  and  uncertain.  What  good 
could  her  outspoken  comment  do,  save  embitter  future 
intercourse,  make  impossible  that  the  lives  of  the  three 
of  them  should  be  lived  out  together  ? 

All  those  gulfs  of  silence  between  her  and  Stella  were 
bridged,  at  last,  to-night;  speech  flooded  them. 

Stella  had  gone  to  bed,  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  had 
awakened  feeling  faint;  she  thought  she  must  be  sink- 
ing !  She  had  taken  the  tablet  that  lay  on  the  table  by 
her  bedside,  and  scribbled  on  it  in  pencil  —  "Died  at 
eight-forty,  send  for  your  aunt."  And  then  had  sunk 
back  upon  her  pillows,  and  slept  again.  But  Bice,  never 
long  away  from  the  bedroom,  had  come  in  softly,  and 
read  the  message.  The  next  time  Stella  opened  her  eyes 
they  fell  upon  Dr.  Gifford  and  Vanessa,  in  bewilderment. 
There  were  twinkles  in  the  doctor's  eyes,  but  Vanessa 
and  Bice  were  pale  and  apprehensive. 

"Your  message  seems  to  have  been  a  little  premature," 

348 


SEBASTIAN  349 

Dr.  Gifford  said.  "I  won't  prescribe  a  coffin  this  time. 
We  will  try  some  chicken,  and  a  glass  of  champagne, 
instead." 

"I  wrote  a  note,  didn't  I?" 

"You  gave  us  the  last  bulletin." 

"I  must  have  felt  very  seedy.  Poor  Bice,  poor 
Vanessa!  But  you  knew  it  was  not  true,  surely  you 
could  see  for  yourselves  that  I  was  not  dead." 

Bice  swallowed  her  tears,  and  felt  she  had  been  very 
stupid.  She,  too,  had  been  going  to  the  Alstons',  and 
had  already  cancelled  her  appointment.  Dr.  Gifford 
enjoyed  the  joke,  and  promised  Stella  a  long  resuscita- 
tion. Later  on,  when  the  matter  had  been  cleared  up, 
and  the  momentary  faintness  explained,  Stella  and  Va- 
nessa united  in  persuading  Bice  to  dress,  and  go  out. 

It  was  Stella  who  said,  when  they  were  alone : 

"Pleasey  and  Sebastian  are  going,  are  they  not?"  and 
so  loosed  the  flood-gates.  But  the  stream  came  gradu- 
ally, not  all  at  once. 

"Sebastian  is  not  at  all  well.  He  is  worried  about 
things,  overworked." 

Always  the  quicker-witted  of  the  two,  even  if  her 
quick  wits  were  shallow,  Stella  asked: 

"Worried  in  business?" 

"You  won't  speak  of  it,  I  know.  Yes,  he  is  worried 
about  business.  He  wants  more  capital.  Stella,  I 
wonder  if  you  would  mind  ?  I  have  been  thinking,  these 
last  few  hours,  that  money  father  left,  is  ours  absolutely. 
I  have  lent  him  some  of  mine,  if  you  would  do  the  same 
thing ?" 

She  expected  ready  response.    As  children  she  and 


350  SEBASTIAN 

Stella  had  held  their  goods  in  common.  Now  Stella's 
eyes  puckered,  and  she  answered  nothing. 

"There  is  not  the  least  risk.  I  know  my  boy.  He  is 
marked  for  success.  The  machine  is  in  a  rut,  money 
will  give  it  the  push  it  needs." 

"But  you  know,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that  he 
should  have  it,  if  it  were  mine  to  give." 

"Bice  would  - 

"Bice  would  give  her  soul  for  Sebastian;  it  isn't  that. 
Don't  you  know,  can't  you  guess?  I  haven't  got  it,  I 
haven't  got  anything.  Jack  made  away  with  it." 

"But  —  but  — "  she  was  quite  bewildered,  "you  have 
lived  just  the  same." 

Stella  flushed  painfully,  she  could  not  speak  for  a 
minute  or  two. 

It  had  come,  it  had  come  at  last.  Now  Vanessa  must 
know.  How  could  she  make  her  understand,  all  her 
secret  life,  and  the  burden  of  it,  all  that  her  days  had 
hidden,  and  that  had  eaten  away  her  strength  and 
courage?  She  had  been  silent,  and  silence  had  sapped 
slowly,  like  salt  sea-waves  against  her  coast  of  life,  lap, 
lap,  in  silence  making  inroad. 

"You  have  never  guessed?" 

"I  don't  understand." 

"I  haven't  anything;  Jack  left  me  without  anything." 

"Then,  then " 


"Saighton  has  given  me " 

"Don't  say  it  - 

"All  I  needed.    More,  he  would  have  given  me  so 
much  more." 

"  It  cannot  be  true.    And  I,  knowing  nothing." 


SEBASTIAN  351 

"You  wrote  your  books,  you  had  your  Sebastian. 
You  have  never  known  anything  about  real  men  and 
women." 

It  was  earthquake  shaking  Vanessa's  world,  buildings 
were  crumbling,  landmarks  disappearing,  howling  wind 
was  in  her  ear,  and  the  sound  of  many  waters. 

"You  have  not  been  his " 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  word  you  use.  I  don't  know 
why  you  have  never  guessed  it,  I  think  all  the  world 
knows  or  guesses  it,  but  you !  Jack  went  away  with 
another  woman.  I  had  a  child  I  could  not  keep,  lonely 
days  and  nights.  And  I  was  only  twenty-three.  Don't 
go  on  being  blind,  and  deaf,  and  dumb.  Try  and  feel 
what  other  women  suffer.  I  could  not  live  alone,  that 
was  the  beginning;  I  wanted  love,  I  needed  it.  I  took 
what  was  offered  me.  And  you  went  on  writing  your 
books,  not  noticing  anything.  I  have  never  been  happy, 
not  a  day,  not  an  hour.  Look  from  you  to  me,  and  you 
will  see." 

And  indeed  there  might  have  been  years,  instead  of 
minutes,  between  them.  Vanessa's  face  had  grown  a 
little  hard  these  few  months,  and  the  lips  were  thinner, 
and  tight.  But  still  there  were  no  wrinkles  round  her 
eyes.  Stella's  face  was  lined,  and  tired;  all  that  had 
been  beauty  was  soft  and  blurred,  it  was  as  a  tale  that 
had  been  told. 

Quite  suddenly  tears  rose  in  Vanessa's  eyes,  tears  that 
could  not  fall.  She  stooped  and  kissed  the  dear  tired 
face.  They  clung  to  each  other  a  moment. 

"  You  have  had  nothing  out  of  life ;  I  have  had  every- 
thing," were  the  words  that  broke  forth  involuntarily. 


352  SEBASTIAN 

David's  goodness,  his  generosity,  Sebastian's  school 
successes,  happy  hours  with  her  pen,  even  her  pleasures 
in  prints,  and  china,  rose  in  her  mind.  Stella  had  had 
nothing. 

All  these  years  Stella  had  kept  a  secret  from  her.  And 
such  a  secret !  That  she  had  lived  on  Lord  Saighton's 
bounty,  been  Lord  Saighton's  mistress  —  Vanessa's 
cheeks  went  hot  with  shame,  she  felt  a  terrible  repul- 
sion, at  which  she  was  even  more  terribly  ashamed. 
Was  it  true  that  she  was  unlike  other  women,  looked  at 
such  things  from  a  different  standpoint?  Hilda  de 
Cliffe  had  told  her  so.  But  Stella  had  not  been  happy, 
she  had  never  been  happy  in  it,  and  it  was  this  that  had 
aged  her. 

Now  Stella  began  to  talk,  such  sad  talk !  Vanessa 
had,  at  last,  a  glimpse  into  Jack  Ashton's  conduct;  a 
thrill  of  appreciation,  understanding,  came  to  her  as  she 
heard  of  Saighton's  sympathy.  Stella,  so  young  and 
pretty,  made  for  love  and  luxury,  had  been  bereft  of 
both. 

"You  were  absorbed  in  your  second  book.  The  first 
had  been  well  received.  You  told  me,  yourself,  your 
whole  life  seemed  to  hang  on  making  the  second  better, 
more  worthy  of  father.  You  came  to  see  me  with  your 
body,  but  your  mind  was  in  your  library.  And  he  was 
so  good  to  me,  so  patient  with  me,  unselfish,  he  has  al- 
ways been  good  to  me.  I  wanted  petting,  he  said,  and 
he  wanted  to  give  it  to  me.  There  are  some  things  you 
have  never  known.  Petting  is  one  of  them,  caresses, 
tenderness.  .  .  .  You  have  been  a  good  mother,  but 
you  could  not  give  even  Sebastian  what  you  never  knew. 


SEBASTIAN  353 

You  cannot  see  what  Sebastian  finds  in  Pleasey;  it  is 
what  he  has  missed  from  you,  the  traffic  of  love,  love's 
expression.  Whether  we  are  men  or  women,  boys  or 
girls,  there  are  times  when  each  of  us  wants  the  other, 
close,  when  we  need  a  hand  in  our  hand,  a  cheek  upon 
our  cheek,  arms  about  each  other;  that  is  the  half  of 
life  you  have  missed." 

Now  she  threw  aside  the  reticence  of  years.  She  told 
her  listening,  bewildered,  unhappy  sister  of  all  Lord 
Saighton  had  given  up  for  her  sake.  Jack  had  had 
money  from  him  again  and  again,  threatening  pub- 
licity, he,  who  had  nothing  to  lose !  Other  politicians 
had  had  their  careers  ruined  by  women,  dragging  the 
women  down  with  them  when  they  fell.  O'Shaughnessy 
and  Fenwick  were  given  as  instances,  and  the  names  of 
the  women  were  by- words.  Saighton  would  never  ex- 
pose her  to  this,  he  had  sacrificed  everything  to  avoid 
it.  She  dwelt  on  his  kindnesses,  his  devotion  to  her. 
Again  and  again  she  reverted  to  Vanessa's  blindness, 
convicting  her  of  lapses  of  interest,  or  carelessness  of 
detail. 

"You  spoke  sometimes  of  my  extravagance,  my 
flowers,  or  my  tea-gowns.  Did  you  really  think  they 
represented  only  five  hundred  pounds  a  year?" 

"I  did  not  think,"  Vanessa  answered,  humbly  enough. 

"You  pride  yourself  on  being  a  woman  of  the  world. 
I  have  been  away  six  or  seven  times  every  year.  Do 
you  think  you  can  travel  about,  go  to  the  best  hotels, 
on  five  hundred  pounds  a  year?" 

Vanessa  sat  on  as  one  half  stunned.  It  was  all  un- 
real, it  was  something  that  must  separate  her  from  her 

2A 


354  SEBASTIAN 

sister.  She  could  not  hurt  Stella,  she  could  hurt  no 
one  again  with  bitter  words  that  recoiled.  But  it  was 
horrible,  horrible!  And  then  she  reproached  herself 
for  intolerance,  trying  to  put  herself  in  the  other's  posi- 
tion, to  recall  her  pleas.  But  Vanessa  would  never 
have  done  it,  could  never  have  done  it.  She  thought 
of  Joe  Wallingford,  flushed  at  the  thought  of  Joe  Wal- 
lingford.  But  she  had  not  needed  love  or  petting,  she 
had  been  strong  until  now.  Now  she  broke  down  a 
little,  and  cried,  with  her  face  against  the  pillow  on 
which  Stella  lay. 

Stella  saw  only  her  softening,  thought  only  how  well 
she  had  taken  the  story,  how  much  better  than  had 
seemed  possible. 

It  is  easy  to  talk  of  conventional  laws,  to  despise 
and  belittle  them.  But  these  poor  women  who  live 
outside  the  pale,  live  in  a  sad  country.  From  their 
windows,  every  morning  as  they  rise  they  see  loneli- 
ness and  desolation,  every  wind  that  blows  has  menace 
in  it,  the  wolves  howl,  and  their  security  is  threatened. 
Always,  she  had  feared  lest  Vanessa  should  hear  the 
howling  of  the  wolves,  and  recognise  in  what  country 
her  sister  had  set  foot.  It  had  been  always  this  fear 
that  had  lurked  miserably  on  the  cold  threshold  of  her 
solitary  hours.  And  now,  at  last,  it  was  no  longer  there  ! 

She  talked,  and  talked,  far  into  the  night.  The  bur- 
den of  it  was  that  now  she  could  get  better,  stronger, 
it  was  the  secrecy  from  Vanessa  that  had  been  so  wear- 
ing. Stella  gave  her  sister  a  rare,  occasional  insight 
into  wonderful  moments.  She  wished  Vanessa  had 
known  love.  Vanessa  could  not  bear  that  talk,  her 


SEBASTIAN  355 

sensitiveness,  perhaps  a  distant  dawn  of  knowledge,  or 
premonition,  shrank  from  it.  There  is  no  doubt  Joe 
Wallingford  was  in  her  mind.  She  changed  the  subject. 

Presently  she  found  herself  talking  of  Sebastian's 
wife,  confessing  her  breakdown,  not  excusing  it. 

Stella's  morality  had  inevitably  suffered;  she  could 
not  conceal  that  she  thought  Sebastian's  wife  would 
serve  a  phase  for  him.  Vanessa  knew  that  this  was 
not  Sebastian's  way  of  love,  but  her  sister  could  not 
credit  him  with  his  virtues  of  fidelity  and  continence, 
hereditary  virtues. 

"I  know  I  said  unjustifiable  things  to  her.  I  am 
intolerant  of  her,"  Vanessa  admitted. 

"You  don't  understand  what  need  of  Sebastian's  it 
is  that  she  serves.  You  live  in  blinkers.  She  is  an 
idle,  unprincipled  little  thing,  and  he  will  outgrow  her, 
but  in  the  meantime,  she  is  an  improvement  on  the 
Princess.  Leave  them  alone,  and  let  him  find  her  out 
for  himself.  From  the  first,  I  thought  it  could  never 
answer  for  you  to  live  together.  Pleasey's  extravagant 
habits  are  easy  to  understand,  if  you  look  at  them 
sympathetically.  If  you  have  nothing,  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  try  and  save  it !  Until  now  she  has  never  had 
anything,  and  as  she  has  neither  creed,  nor  conscience, 
now  that  the  opportunity  offers,  she  is  snatching  at 
anything  she  can  get.  But  I  thought  Sebastian  was 
doing  so  well  —  what  has  happened?" 

Vanessa  tried  to  explain  the  situation. 

"Well,  why  doesn't  your  provincial  millionaire  come 
to  the  rescue?  It  is  all  that  kind  of  man  is  good  for. 
Make  him  give  Sebastian  anything  he  wants." 


356  SEBASTIAN 

"And  cheat  him  of  return?" 

"Not  necessarily,  why  not  marry  him?  You  can- 
not go  on  living  with  Sebastian  and  his  wife.  I  would 
withdraw  my  opposition  at  once,  if  you  would  only 
tell  me  you  have  at  last  realised  that  you  have  missed 
something,  and  that  Joe  Wallingford  can  give  it  you." 

"A  hand  in  my  hand,  a  cheek  against  my  cheek," 
Vanessa  quoted,  jestingly,  trying  to  take  it  lightly. 

Stella  answered : 

"For  me,  for  Sebastian,  for  Pleasey,  for  nearly  every- 
body, love  is  vital  to  life.  But  not  for  you,  perhaps; 
you  are  so  strong,  there  is  so  little  feminine  about  you. 
Perhaps  you  are  the  one  exception,  the  one  woman 
who  can  stand  alone,  without  feeling  lonely.  But,  if 
so,  don't  be  proud  about  it,  be  sorry.  I  have  been 
wretched  —  but  I  have  had  my  moments.  You  have 
only  had  pen  and  ink;  rooms  without  flowers,  days 
without  sun.  ..." 

Was  it  true,  was  it?  She  wondered  all  through  that 
night.  She  was  still  wondering  when  the  morning 
dawned. 

******* 

She  had  gone  into  the  boy's  room  when  she  got  home ; 
he  was  still  sleeping,  heavily,  peacefully.  She  left  the 
door  open  between  them,  watching  him  through  the 
remaining  few  hours  of  that  long  night.  Pleasey  was 
late  at  the  ball;  Vanessa  heard  her  come  in,  about 
three,  she  pictured  her  opera  cloak  lying  about  the 
hall,  a  glove  dropped  on  the  stairs.  That  is  what 
Pleasey  Pleyden-Carr  had  brought  into  their  lives, 
frivolity,  disorder,  indifference. 


SEBASTIAN  357 

And  Stella!  Vanessa  could  not  yet  think  of  Stella, 
it  was  all  pain  and  confusion  there.  She  must  believe 
it,  bear  it,  bear  with  it.  But  she  was  mentally  and 
morally  all  bruised  and  tired.  She  could  not  think 
clearly,  nor  find  solid  foothold  amid  the  ruins. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

PLEASEY  was  later  than  ever  next  morning.  She  did 
not  want  to  meet  Vanessa,  and  sent  down  word  that 
she  was  seedy,  and  would  like  a  tray  sent  up  to  her. 
Sebastian  told  her  that  the  "poor  girl"  had  not  got 
home  until  four.  He  had  been  up  to  see  her,  and  had 
advised  her  to  take  the  day  in  bed. 

Sebastian  felt  better,  in  the  morning  things  looked 
less  black.  He  said  he  should  get  down  early  to  the 
office,  and  see  Robertson. 

"Robertson?" 

"An  accountant,  an  awfully  clear-headed  fellow. 
He  does  our  books.  I  know  what  he  will  say.  He 
will  want  me  to  give  up  the  manufacturing,  get  rid  of 
the  new  mills  altogether.  He  thinks  he  could  get  me 
an  offer.  All  I've  been  working  for  must  go  by  the 
board ! " 

"Let  me  see  Mr.  Wallingford." 

"No!  I  would  rather  let  everything  go.  I  don't 
want  any  outsiders  consulted,  I'll  get  through  in  my 
own  way,  or  not  at  all.  Your  money  shall  not  be  lost. 
I  can  always  make  an  income.  I  wish  I  knew  how 
Hay  ling  heard  we  were  short.  And  the  curse  of  it  is, 
the  damned  hard  lines  is,  that  if  we  liquidated,  we 
could  pay  forty  shillings  in  the  pound,  that  everything 
is  as  right  as  rain.  Except,  perhaps,  for  the  'feather- 

358 


SEBASTIAN  359 

weight/  every  ounce  of  stock  is  worth  what  it  cost, 
or  more.  We  are  selling  more  hand-made  than  we  sold 
in  the  pater's  time;  the  two  machines  are  working 
full  time,  and  the  travellers  are  doing  more  turnover 
than  ever.  It  is  the  curse  of  having  to  stick  to  the 
old  tradition.  I  pay  spot  cash,  and  give  twelve  months' 
credit." 

He  meant  to  say  that  is  what  he  had  started  by 
doing !  And  yet  it  is  not  as  if  the  boy  had  only  talked. 
He  had  honestly  worked  like  three  ordinary  men.  He 
had  often  been  out  by  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  to 
return,  utterly  exhausted,  twelve  hours  later.  She  did 
not  know  where  lay  the  flaw;  but  all  through  break- 
fast, as  all  through  last  evening,  and  in  the  night,  she 
remembered  he  was  only  one-and-twenty,  and  that 
Stella  said  he  had  missed  something  essential  from  her. 

He  had  built  up  a  large  business.  She  watched  his 
strained  face,  and  knew  that  if  the  foundation  was 
weak,  and  the  building  toppling,  like  Atlas,  he  would 
support  it  with  his  shoulders.  But  then  she  criticised 
the  simile  and  found  it  jejune.  She  could  not  help  her 
limitations.  She  was  no  more  womanly  than  her 
daughter-in-law.  Felicitous  phrase-making  occupied  her, 
as  making  up  her  face  occupied  the  other.  Vanessa  was 
entirely  dissatisfied  with  herself  this  morning. 

She  went  into  the  hall  with  her  son  that  morning, 
to  help  him  on  with  his  coat,  to  try  for  a  last  word 
with  which  to  comfort  him.  When  he  ran  up  once 
more  to  say  good-bye  to  his  wife,  she  waited  for  him. 

Never  inconsiderate  or  careless  to  her,  he  thanked 
her,  when  he  came  down  again.  "Don't  you  worry, 


360  SEBASTIAN 

old  dear;  you  have  helped  me.  You  have  been  a 
brick,  as  usual.  We  shall  pull  through  all  right.  Pleasey 
is  going  to  Eastbourne,  this  afternoon,  until  Monday; 
she  feels  the  strain.  I  told  her  to  go,  for  I  may  be 
late  all  this  week.  You  and  I  can  talk  things  over 
again,  this  evening,  after  I  have  seen  Robertson." 

She  was  satisfied  that  she  was  to  be  spared  Pleasey's 
company,  that  for  the  next  few  days  there  would  be 
breathing  space.  It  was  she  the  boy  wanted,  his 
mother,  not  his  wife !  How  mean  she  was,  and  un- 
worthy. She  could  not  make  peace  with  herself,  since 
that  scene  with  Sebastian's  wife. 

Pleasey  went  off  by  the  morning  train,  there  was  no 
meeting  between  them,  and  evidently  nothing  had  been 
said  to  Sebastian. 

Vanessa  had  lunch  by  herself.  The  relief  of  feeling 
there  was  no  one  for  whom  to  wait,  no  hurried  entry 
to  expect,  no  coat  or  furs  strewn  about  the  room,  was 
like  harbour  after  a  tossing  sea.  Her  writing-table 
tempted  her,  but  it  was  too  soon;  life  was  pressing  her 
too  close,  too  insistently,  she  could  not  get  back  yet  to 
the  happy  world  of  unreality,  and  brilliant,  subtle 
shadows.  She  prepared  instead  for  an  idle  afternoon. 
Idleness  with  Vanessa  meant  needlework,  a  piece  of 
embroidery,  the  regular  stitch,  stitch  that  left  her  free 
to  dream.  She  sat  over  the  drawing-room  fire,  the 
needlework  in  her  hands,  thinking;  thinking  only  one 
thought.  What  had  she  missed;  was  it  too  late? 

And  Joe  Wallingford  thought  he  had  stayed  away 
from  her  quite  long  enough. 

They  had  constantly  exchanged  letters,  she  had  dis- 


SEBASTIAN  361 

couraged  his  visits.  But  now  he  had  a  legitimate  busi- 
ness excuse  for  an  interview.  The  Messina  earthquake 
was  but  a  few  hours  old.  It  was  strange  how  insig- 
nificant it  had  been  in  face  of  her  personal  cares.  But 
when  Joe  Wallingford  was  in  the  drawing-room,  inter- 
fering between  her  and  her  needlework,  bigger  than 
ever,  she  found  herself  moved  by  his  narration  of  the 
appalling  calamity,  lifted  out  of  herself. 

He  had  his  special  correspondent  out  there,  his  early 
wires  had  kept  him  on  a  level  with  the  London  papers. 
But  he  wanted  detail,  local  colour,  and  she,  he  knew, 
was  familiar  with  every  rood  of  the  ground,  could  give 
life  and  substance  to  the  leading  articles.  At  first,  for 
fully  half  an  hour,  it  was  only  of  the  earthquake  he 
talked. 

.But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  he  cared  for  her, 
that  he  had  not  seen  her  since  Sebastian's  marriage,  that 
she  was  ever  a  woman  whose  subtlety  lay  only  in  her  pen, 
who  was  easy  to  read. 

Should  she  tell  him  he  had  been  right  about  Sebas- 
tian's business  difficulties,  should  she  go  behind  her 
boy's  wishes,  and  tell  him  of  the  need  of  further  capital, 
should  she  confide  in  him?  She  counted  her  stitches, 
and  talked  of  the  earthquake,  but  this  was  at  the  back 
of  her  brain. 

It  was  all  taken  out  of  her  hands.  He  asked  her, 
quite  bluntly : 

"What's  the  matter?  What  has  happened  since  I 
was  here  last  ?  Have  you  been  ill  ?  " 

"No." 

"Worried?" 


362  SEBASTIAN 

"More  or  less."  Her  hands  trembled,  and  she  laid 
the  work  down.  She  was  really  glad  to  see  him,  to  talk 
to  him.  He  seemed  so  strong,  and  decided,  so  reliable. 
Perhaps  he  held  the  key  to  all  her  mysteries. 

"Sebastian  well?" 

"Yes;  somewhat  overworked." 

"Stella?" 

"She  is  not  in  very  good  health,  feeble  rather." 

"Worse  than  usual?" 

"No  — hardly." 

"Well !  if  it  isn't  Stella,  and  it  isn't  Sebastian,  it  can 
only  be  —  me!" 

She  laughed,  it  did  her  good  to  laugh. 

"I  really  have  not  been  worrying  about  you." 

"Forgotten  all  about  me?" 

"I  don't  say  that." 

A  slightly  heightened  colour  encouraged  him.  He  sat 
down  beside  her  on  the  sofa.  Although  she  moved  away 
from  him,  shrank  a  little  into  the  corner,  he  spread  him- 
self at  ease.  Somehow,  or  other,  it  was  impossible  to 
explain  his  impression,  but  it  was  certainly  there,  he 
felt  that  her  attitude  was  more  favourable  to  him  than 
it  had  ever  been  before;  that  her  reluctance  now  was 
but  the  reluctance  of  habit;  that  she  remembered  he 
had  kissed  her,  and  had  ceased  to  resent  it,  that  she  was 
really  glad  of  his  presence,  and  presently  should  tell 
him  so. 

"Will  you  have  tea,  whisky-and-soda,  or  a  cigarette?" 

"I  would  rather  talk." 

"The  tea  will  not  interfere  with  your  conversation." 

"You  were  angry  with  me  the  last  time  I  was  here?" 


SEBASTIAN  363 

The  colour  was  rather  warm  in  her  cheeks,  but  she  felt 
a  new  uneasiness  in  his  presence,  a  restlessness. 

"Not  very,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  hardly  realising 
what  she  was  admitting. 

She  had  had  weeks  of  stress,  of  sinking  her  own  in- 
dividuality in  that  of  other  people's.  Since  last  night 
she  had  known  herself  no  longer  indispensable  to  Stella's 
life,  and  that  she  had  never  filled  it;  she  had  been  sup- 
planted with  Sebastian.  It  had  been  for  them  only  she 
cared,  and  nothing  could  displace  them  with  her.  But 
it  was  good  at  such  a  moment  to  know  herself  first  with 
some  one. 

And  Joe  Wallingford  made  no  immediate  capital  out 
of  her  admission.  He  had  a  hundred  things  to  tell  her, 
interesting  things,  and  she  lost  herself  in  them  for  a 
contented  hour.  Her  personal  perplexities  had  loomed 
large  because  she  had  ceased  to  compare  them.  Joe 
brought  air  into  the  close  spaces  of  her  narrowed  days,  a 
breath  from  the  outer  world,  where  great  tragedies  were 
being  enacted,  and  smaller  international  complications, 
yet  made  her  own  seem  infinitesimal. 

He  talked  of  Austria  and  Servia,  of  the  Sicilian  earth- 
quakes, of  American  promptitude  in  voting  help,  and 
something  of  Little  Italy  in  New  York  City.  Then  of 
the  King's  message  to  the  Navy,  the  Government  grant 
it  suggested,  of  home  politics,  and  the  possibilities  of  a 
general  election  in  the  ensuing  autumn,  of  his  own  seat, 
and  what  he  hoped  to  do.  It  was  a  pleasant  hour, 
giving  her  a  sense  of  companionship,  of  mutual  interests, 
if  not  of  tastes.  And  when  at  length  he  came  to  the 
point,  to  close  quarters,  what  he  said  seemed  reasonable. 


364  SEBASTIAN 

"Why  should  I  have  to  come  all  the  way  from  Work- 
ington  to  talk  to  you?  Haven't  you  held  out  long 
enough?  I  told  you  from  the  beginning  I  was  never 
going  to  take  'No'  for  an  answer.  Come,  own  you  are 
hesitating ;  it  is  only  the  pluck  to  cross  the  line  that  you 
need.  Put  your  foot  over  it,  there  is  firm  ground  here." 

"I  want  to  be  candid  with  you,"  she  said,  hesitatingly. 
"It  —  it  tempts  me." 

"Well,  succumb  to  temptation.  This  isn't  one  of 
those  we  pray  against." 

She  laughed,  as  he  meant  her  to.  They  were  both 
standing  up  again  now,  on  the  rug,  in  front  of  the  fire. 
She  was  older  than  she  had  been  on  the  day  that  it  had 
first  come  to  him  she  was  the  woman  for  him,  the  day  in 
the  library  at  Seaton  House.  There  was  more  grey  in 
her  hair,  there  were  more  lines  in  her  face.  But  he  was 
just  as  certain. 

"Talk  it  over  with  me.  Is  it  that  I'm  not  refined 
enough  for  you,  that  you  want  a  scholar?" 

"  It  is  nothing  in  you." 

He  put  a  tentative  arm  about  her,  and  the  flush 
mounted  her  cheek. 

"  You'll  have  to  give  yourself  to  me  this  time.  You've 
come  to  the  end  of  your  excuses." 

She  watched  herself  to  see  if  she  resented  the  arm 
about  her  waist.  Her  colour  rose,  her  pulses  throbbed, 
but  again  there  was  no  resentment  in  her. 

"I  am  not  going  to  press  you."  He  saw  the  smile 
at  the  corner  of  her  lips,  the  smile  that  died  before  it 
was  born.  "You  say  you  don't  like  married  life.  And 
you've  posed  yourself  cold  " — the  arm  tightened.  "  I'll 


SEBASTIAN  365 

make  you  feel  different.  There's  more  than  words  bind 
a  man  and  woman.  I'll  give  you  time,  though  the  Lord 
knows  you've  had  time  enough.  Will  you  marry  me? 
I'll  care  for  you,  and  hold  you,  I  won't  stand  between 
you  and  him,  nor  between  you  and  your  sister;  only 
don't  set  yourself  against  me." 

She  tried  to  disentangle  herself  from  him. 

"Let  me  speak,  hear  me.  I  like  you,  I  have  never 
liked  any  one  better.  But  you  are  not  really  wooing  a 
woman.  It  isn't  in  me  to  —  to  feel  as  you  would  have 
me.  I  am  analysing  it  all  the  time,  phrasing  it." 

"Not  you.  I  know  you  better  than  you  know  your- 
self. I'll  make  you  care."  Both  his  arms  were  about 
her  shoulders  now,  but  he  held  her  very  gently,  looking 
down  at  her  from  his  height.  He  was  outside  himself, 
speaking  words  that  in  the  dusk  caressed  her  ears  like 
warm  gusts  of  wind. 

"You've  grown  where  you  are,  without  ever  having 
had  a  shoulder  to  lean  on,  or  an  arm  that  dared  tighten 
about  you.  But  that  is  what  counts,  when  you're  reck- 
oning up."  For  a  second  he  put  his  cheek  against  her 
soft  one,  hot,  almost  ashamed.  "You've  grown  up 
without  ever  knowing  it,  and  so,  you  are  still  a  child. 
Love,  it  is  love  that  fills  the  world.  You  talk  of  married 
life !  You  think  you  know  married  life,  because  you 
lived  a  few  months,  when  you  were  a  girl,  with  a  man  that 
didn't  suit  you.  I  know  more  than  that;  give  me  a 
chance  to  show  you.  I  don't  know  French  nor  German, 
but  I  know  that  if  you're  not  as  young  as  you  were,  you'll 
want  the  more  care."  Now  he  was  really  holding  her  to 
him,  and  she  was  leaning  against  him,  a  little  glad  of  his 


366  SEBASTIAN 

size,  and  realising  the  gentleness.  "I  love  you;  it 
means  a  thousand  things  more  than  you  dream  of,  it 
isn't  in  any  of  your  books.  I'll  teach  you  something 
you  have  never  felt,  for  all  I'm  uneducated.  .  .  ." 

A  strange  half-hour !  Before  it  had  ended  he  had 
gained  his  point,  and  she  had  promised  that  when  Stella 
was  better,  when  business  was  easy,  and  her  boy  happy, 
she  would  make  venture  with  him,  leaving  the  issue  in 
his  hands. 

"You  are  taking  all  the  risk,"  she  told  him.  "I  still 
do  not  think  any  woman  who  writes,  and  must  write,  is 
fit  for  married  life.  She  only  gives  half  herself,  at  best." 

"I'll  take  the  risk.  A  half's  better  than  nothing, 
I'm  grateful  for  half." 

But  she  was  disingenuous,  and  happier  than  she 
would  admit,  questioning  herself,  perhaps,  still  lagging 
on  the  threshold  of  a  new  kingdom,  but  not  without  the 
wish  to  enter.  It  had  grown  from  shadowland  to  some 
dim  brightness;  now  at  least  she  had  the  curiosity,  the 
desire  to  explore,  to  venture  in. 

Joe  stayed  with  her  until  Sebastian  came  home. 
They  had  not  dwelt  on  the  topic,  but  he  gathered  Ren- 
dalls  needed  help.  Sebastian  looked  pale,  tired;  but 
better  than  he  had  looked  yesterday.  At  the  moment, 
he  resented  Joe  Wallingford's  presence.  He  wanted 
Vanessa's  sympathy,  her  entire  attention,  the  restful- 
ness  that  his  mother  alone  could  give  him.  And  he  was 
a  little  fearful  lest  she  should  have  been  talking  of  him, 
of  his  affairs,  his  confidence  had  been  shaken  since  Hay- 
ling  had  queried  the  renewal  of  his  bills. 

"Had  a  good  day?"  she  asked,  making  room  for  him 
on  the  sofa,  settling  the  cushions. 


SEBASTIAN  367 

"  Not  bad.     I'm  dog  tired.    Pleasey  go  off  all  right  ?  " 

"Yes,  she  went  quite  early;  I  think  she  must  have 
caught  the  11.40." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  of  that,  anyway.  You  heard  of  my 
marriage?"  he  asked  Joe,  after  the  usual  greetings. 

Joe  said  he  had  heard,  and  that  it  was  wonderful  good 
news,  amazing  news.  His  congratulations  were  un- 
stinted, cordial.  He  said  he  must  find  him  a  proper 
wedding  present. 

"Where  have  you  set  up  your  tent?" 

"We're  living  with  the  mater  for  the  present,  it  was 
rather  a  sudden  affair." 

Vanessa  supplied  a  lame  explanation. 

"And  your  wife?" 

He  heard  that  young  Mrs.  Kendall  was  delicate,  had 
gone  out  of  town  for  a  few  days.  But  from  the  moment 
of  Sebastian's  entry,  the  conversation  grew  a  little 
strained,  a  little  difficult. 

It  was  an  inspiration  of  Vanessa's  to  leave  the  boy 
with  the  millionaire  after  dinner,  to  hope  —  she  hardly 
knew  what.  It  would  be  wonderful  if  Sebastian  could 
unbosom  himself;  she  had  faith  in  the  older  man's 
power.  She  truly  believed  that  Sebastian  was  exag- 
gerating the  state  of  affairs  in  the  City,  and  that  the  situ- 
ation was  bound  to  straighten  itself  out. 

She  made  her  excuses,  saying  she  must  see  Stella  before 
she  went  to  bed.  And  Joe  fell  in  quickly  with  her  inten- 
tion. 

"If  Mr.  Kendall  will  let  me,  I  would  like  to  stay,  and 
have  a  smoke  with  him,"  he  said. 

"I  am  bad  company  for  anybody,"  Sebastian  an- 


368  SEBASTIAN 

swered,  almost  ungraciously.  "I've  got  a  beast  of  a 
headache  again.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  I'm  getting 
a  tumour  on  the  brain ! " 

"Humour?"  she  interjected,  and  got  the  smile  from 
him  for  which  she  had  tried. 

"Well!  I'll  try  not  to  make  your  headache  worse," 
Joe  said,  good-humouredly.  He  had  not  heard,  until 
an  hour  ago,  that  Sebastian  had  brought  his  bride  to 
Harley  Street.  Was  it  this  that  had  graven  those  lines 
on  Vanessa's  face,  precipitated  the  cloud  into  her  eyes  ? 
He  would  soon  know. 

He  had  tact,  and  definite  intention.  Sebastian  had 
no  arms  against  it.  He  was  untowardly  depressed, 
although  his  day  of  desperate  work  had  not  been  fruit- 
less. 

Joe  began  by  talking  about  cigarettes.  After  he  had 
persuaded  Sebastian  to  try  a  new  variety,  a  wonderful 
nerve-soothing  Sandorides  Lucana,  the  boy's  tongue 
became  a  little  loosened.  After  all,  any  company  was 
better  than  his  own,  just  then.  And  he  had  always 
liked  Joe  Wallingford. 

Joe  felt  the  moment  to  be  propitious,  and  he  also 
knew  he  had  waited  long  enough.  He  smoked,  and  he 
looked  into  the  fire,  dreaming  happily,  although  dream- 
ing had  not  hitherto  been  his  way.  Sebastian  smoked, 
and  thought  of  business,  and  incidentally  of  Joe's 
possibilities  as  a  customer. 

"I  have  been  thinking  of  getting  married,  myself," 
Joe  began,  "you  know,  I  suppose,"  smiling  at  him, 
"that  I  am  fairly  well-to-do." 

"I  don't  know  it  through  your  orders  to  P.  and  A. 


SEBASTIAN  369 

Kendall/'  the  boy  answered,  irritably,  following  his  own 
line  of  thought.  "You  ought  to  have  done  your  whole 
one-shilling  series  in  that  new  'feather-weight'  of  mine. 
I  relied  on  your  using  it,  you  told  the  mater  it  was  a 
good  idea,  and  you  were  interested  in  it;  the  books 
would  have  weighed  nothing." 

"I  did  consider  it,  but  it  took  the  illustrations  very 
badly,"  Joe  replied.  He  was  startled  by  the  sudden 
turn  the  conversation  had  taken,  but  not  entirely  dis- 
satisfied. It  might  make  things  easier,  there  was  much 
he  could  put  in  the  boy's  way.  He  had  many  irons  in 
the  fire,  and  all  these  fires  were  lit,  more  or  less,  with 
paper.  He  wanted  the  boy  to  be  reconciled  to  his 
mother's  marriage.  If  this  was  the  way  to  reconcile 
him,  well !  he  was  glad  of  the  opportunity. 

"Your  first  scheme  was  for  only  one  illustration," 
Sebastian  was  full  of  his  grievance,  and  went  on  airing 
it,  "the  title-page;  and  that  could  have  been  on  art 
paper.  I  could  have  done  you  that  at  three-three 
farthings.  You  are  paying  more." 

Joe  was  really  entertained  at  Sebastian  knowing  so 
much  about  his  business;  he  would  not  interrupt  him. 

"You  go  to  Hayling  for  your  office  paper,  and  circu- 
lars, and  to  Seaton's  for  your  sixpenny  and  one-shilling, 
you  get  the  stuff  for  your  newspapers  from  abroad. 
Come  to  talk  business,  I  don't  know  why  I  haven't 
had  a  turn." 

"I  don't  quite  like  the  texture  of  your  'feather- 
weight.' And  you  probably  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  there  is  no  substance  in  it.  It's  too  soft,  and  will 
fall  to  pieces  if  it  is  handled." 

2B 


370  SEBASTIAN 

"Nobody  reads  the  books  twice;  and  if  they  do. 
they  can  buy  a  second  copy." 

"Yes,  that's  true.    There  is  something  in  that." 

"Not  that  I  care.  You  can  buy  your  paper  where 
you  like;  it  was  you  started  the  subject." 

"I  suppose  you  have  placed  the  first  run?" 

"No,  I  haven't.  There  is  between  four  and  five 
thousand  pounds  locked  up  in  the  new  boiler,  pulp, 
and  all  the  experiments." 

"Have  you  tried  Drivers?" 

"They  are  stocked,  we  filled  them  up  in  the  spring." 

Joe  got  up,  and  stretched  himself.  He  would  rather 
have  got  what  he  wanted  by  other  means.  He  had 
misread  the  boy,  after  all,  and  Sebastian  sank  in  his 
estimation.  But  it  was  the  goal  he  was  playing  for, 
how  he  got  there  was  of  minor  importance. 

"I'll  take  all  you  have  made  off  your  hands  if  you 
like,"  he  said.  "You  can  invoice  it  to  me.  I'll  use  it 
for  a  spring  number  of  the  magazine,  and  print  the 
advertisements  and  pictures  on  the  art,  as  you  suggest." 

Sebastian  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  pale  face  flushed. 

"Will  you  really?"   he  said. 

The  relief  was  too  great,  too  immediate.  Joe's  order 
meant  the  turning-point;  he  had,  with  almost  incon- 
ceivable trouble,  arranged  the  matter  of  the  mortgage, 
and  to  meet  the  bills  in  Hayling's  hands.  It  all  meant 
financing,  and  everywhere  there  was  loss.  He  had 
given  big  discounts  to  get  in  cash,  paying  heavily  for 
accommodation.  He  was  almost  in  sight  of  land,  but 
had  shed  sails,  dropped  valuable  cargo  overboard,  seen 
himself  seriously  disabled  in  the  process.  Talking  to 


SEBASTIAN  371 

Joe  had  been  mere  idleness,  the  salvage  from  the  de- 
struction that  had  been  wrought. 

Now  here  was  an  offer  that  made  everything  easier, 
that  meant  at  least  a  respite,  perhaps  more.  His  eyes 
were  bright  on  Joe  as  he  stood  up,  and  repeated  his 
query : 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?    Will  you  take  all  we  have  made  ?" 

"I  shall  want  quite  that,  I  should  think,  if  not 
more.  I  reckon  to  sell  over  two  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  of  the  spring  number,"  and  he  calculated  the 
reamage. 

The  next  half  hour  was  occupied  with  detail;  bulk, 
weight,  and  finish  must  be  discussed.  Joe  wanted  to 
know  how  the  new  paper  was  maturing,  the  first  sample 
he  had  seen  had  not  impressed  him.  Then  there  was 
the  question  of  guaranteeing  dates  for  delivery,  and  an 
undertaking  there  should  be  no  variation  in  the  repeats. 
It  was  impossible  for  Joe  not  to  appreciate  Sebastian's 
quickness  and  resource.  And  he  dealt  well.  If  Joe  had 
not  known  beforehand,  he  would  not  have  learnt  from 
Sebastian,  when  price  came  to  be  considered,  that  it 
mattered  in  the  least  whether  the  transaction  was  cash 
or  credit. 

"Take  your  own  time,"  he  said,  cheerfully,  when 
everything  else  had  been  settled;  "we  know  the  ac- 
count is  all  right,  and  that  is  all  P.  and  A.  Kendall 
look  to." 

"Which  reminds  me,"  said  Joe,  perhaps  with  too 
obvious  carelessness.  "I  said  something  to  you  about 
over-trading  the  last  time  I  was  in  town.  And  you 
resented  it.  I  don't  want  you  to  resent  what  I'm 


372  SEBASTIAN 

going  to  say  now.  About  that  order,  of  course,  we 
pay  cash  for  everything,  and  take  all  the  discount  we 
can  get.  But  a  rumour  did  reach  me,  some  few  weeks 
since,  that  cash  was  short  with  you " 

Sebastian  was  in  arms  at  once. 

"A  trade  canard!  We've  got  unscrupulous  com- 
petitors, like  most  people." 

"Don't  get  mad.  It  is  no  secret  that  a  business, 
expanding  too  quickly,  sometimes  gets  too  big  for  its 
capital.  I  like  to  have  a  good  many  irons  in  a  good 
many  fires.  Could  you  pay  a  decent  interest  on  a  few 
thousand  pounds  ?  Say  on  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  ? 
Are  you  open?" 

Nothing  could  have  been  put  more  carefully,  more 
delicately.  Sebastian,  who  saw  himself,  all  at  once, 
sailing  into  haven,  sky  blue,  sun  shining,  all  sails  set, 
white  and  beautiful  in  the  breeze,  could  only  maintain 
his  dignity  by  absolute  silence.  He  had  been  through 
great  stress;  his  natural  buoyancy  and  optimism  had 
had  a  shock  that  had  sent  both  reeling,  had  almost 
submerged  them.  Now  he  had  to  hold  his  breath;  his 
equilibrium  was  established  with  difficulty. 

"Well !  you  don't  say  yes?  I  am  not  proposing  im- 
possible terms;  a  small  sleeping  partnership,  exclusive 
use  of  anything  I  want." 

Considering  the  real  position  of  affairs,  Sebastian's 
self-possession  under  such  circumstances  must  be  con- 
sidered exceptional. 

"Kendalls  never  have  had  a  partner  who  was  not 
one  of  the  family,"  he  answered,  with  all  the  calm  that 
he  could  command.  "Kendall  has  succeeded  Kendall 


SEBASTIAN  373 

since  the  first  hand-made  paper  mill  was  put  up  in 
England." 

Joe  squared  his  shoulders.  His  smile  was  really 
attractive. 

"Well!  you  know/'  he  said,  "that  is  part  of  my 
proposition.  I  propose  to  become  one  of  the  family." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

SEBASTIAN  came  into  Vanessa's  bedroom  that  night, 
after  she  had  retired.  He  wanted  to  talk.  As  usual, 
he  was  slow  in  beginning.  He  played  with  the  toilet 
things,  he  spoke  disparagingly  of  the  portraits  of  him- 
self and  Stella  that  stood  upon  the  dressing-table; 
silver-framed,  conspicuous.  But  he  was  a  long  time 
getting  to  what  brought  him  here. 

She  tried  to  help  him: 

"Did  Mr.  Wallingford  stay  long  after  I  went  out?" 

"Long  enough." 

"I  had  rather  you  put  that  photograph  down;  it  is 
the  only  one  I  have  of  Stella  in  that  particular  pose,  I 
don't  want  the  glass  broken." 

"You  have  not  got  a  photo  of  the  pater  here." 

"He  disliked  having  his  portrait  taken." 

"I  suppose  Joe  Wallingford  has  himself  painted  in 
oils?" 

"  I  should  not  be  surprised." 

"He  is  not  much  to  look  at." 

"Rather  a  fine  man,  in  his  way,  I  think.  It  is  a 
rugged  head,  but  full  of  power." 

Sebastian  shot  a  glance  at  her.  The  psychology  of 
Sebastian,  at  the  moment,  seemed  to  Vanessa  the  most 
interesting  thing  in  the  world.  What  Joe  had  said  to 
him,  or  he  to  Joe,  what  effect  their  talk  would  have  on 
her  own  future,  was  very  insignificant  hi  comparison. 

374 


SEBASTIAN  375 

"You  don't  like  him,  I  suppose?"  He  could  not  get 
the  stronger  word  over  his  lips.  His  mother  could  not 
be  in  love  with  the  fellow ! 

"Yes,  I  do.     I  have  always  liked  him." 

There  was  a  longer  pause. 

"I  suppose  I  am  a  selfish  beast.  I  can't  bear  the 
thought  of  this  fellow  in  the  pater's  place." 

"In  a  way,  it  would  make  things  simpler." 

"You  mean  in  the  City?" 

"You  could  be  working  for  yourself,  not  for  me." 

"That  is  just  it;  all  the  motive,  all  the  heart  would 
go  out  of  it.  I  don't  really  care  for  money;  what  is 
the  use  of  it  to  me?  I  have  no  time  to  spend  it.  I 
like  the  fight  of  it,  and  seeing  Kendalls  going  up.  But 
the  real  thing  was  making  it  for  you,  pouring  it  into 
your  banking  account,  hearing  you  say,  one  day,  you 
were  glad  I  took  it  on,  and  that  I  was  right  in  joining 
the  pater !  You  have  never  quite  said  that." 

"But  you  will  be  glad  of  Mr.  Wallingford's  help?" 

"  I  shall  simply  hate  it.  You  don't  understand.  I've 
been  going  through  an  awful  time  ever  since  I  came 
back,  worse  than  I  can  tell  you.  But  still  it  was  be- 
tween you  and  me,  and  you  stood  by  me.  And  I  had 
begun  to  see  my  way.  I  meant  to  have  told  you  about 
it  to-night.  I  wanted  you  to  give  up  this  house  for  a 
year  or  two,  live  in  the  country;  you  could  write  as 
well,  or  better  in  the  country,  Pleasey  and  I  would 
have  kept  you  from  being  dull.  We  could  have  managed 
on  very  little,  say  one  thousand  five  hundred  a  year. 
You  don't  know  how  good  the  business  really  is,  I  went 
through  it  all  with  Robertson;  he  does  the  books  for  a 


376  SEBASTIAN 

number  of  other  houses  in  our  line.  He  thinks  awfully 
well  of  it.  It's  —  I'll  give  you  a  literary  simile,  you'll 
see  it  better.  It  is  like  an  extraordinary  fertile  coun- 
try, only  wanting  irrigation;  capital  is  the  irrigation. 
I  have  been  hoeing,  digging,  planting  fields,  when  there 
was  not  enough  water  for  those  already  sown;  in  the 
result  the  crops  were  poor,  uncertain,  some  failing  alto- 
gether. But  the  land  is  rich,  richer  than  the  pater 
guessed,  richer  than  any  one  knows  but  me " 

He  walked  about;  she  waited,  patiently.  She  was 
in  the  midst  of  her  night  toilette.  She  looked  in  the  glass 
now,  as  Pleasey  looked  so  often,  and  she  thought  Mr. 
Wallingford's  taste  was  not  bad,  after  all.  Her  hair 
was  thick  and  abundant,  and  everything  about  her  fresh, 
natural,  unstained  by  unguents;  surely  she  was  more 
worthy  of  all  that  Stella  wished  for  her,  than  was  Pleasey, 
whom  Sebastian  adored. 

Then  she  said : 

"But  if  Mr.  Wallingford  will  do  the  irrigation?" 

"The  fun  is  gone,  the  savour  out  of  everything.  I 
was  working  for  you,  and  I  had  found  the  way.  It  is 
only  a  question  of  saving,  not  spending  too  much  either 
in  business,  or  private,  for  a  few  years,  rearranging  the 
credits.  Mater,  when  I  came  home  to-day  I  was  full  of 
it.  I  had  worked  it  all  out,  I  wanted  to  show  you  my 
papers,  and  the  calculations.  Then  I  found  that  fellow 
here.  He  gave  me  a  good  order.  The  'feather-weight' 
was  my  pet  field,  and  he  opened  the  sluice-gate.  But 
then  he  let  this  cataract  loose  on  me.  I  —  I  don't  like 
it.  You  are  only  doing  it  for  me  ?" 

"No." 


SEBASTIAN  377 

"I  know  you  are.  If  I  thought  you  were  doing  it 
because  you  liked  him,  I'd  put  my  feelings  on  one  side. 
But  I  know  what  you  do  care  about.  Me,  and  Stella, 
your  writing,  buying  those  prints  and  things,  doing  your 
embroidery.  It  is  not  as  if  you  had  any  temperament 
—  even  the  pater  wasn't  —  wasn't  really  necessary  to 
you.  You  said  yourself  - 

Sebastian  was  very  moved.  He  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  his  mother  with  a  new  husband,  to  think  of  his 
father  as  replaced.  He  did  not  want  Joe  Wallingford's 
money  flowing  through  his  business.  He  wanted  to 
build  up,  hold  up,  extend,  push  Rendalls,  all  by  himself. 
The  pride  in  it  was  rooted  in  him,  as  it  had  been  in  his 
father.  But  she  was  more  tolerant  of  him  than  she  had 
ever  been  of  her  husband.  Rendalls  had  ceased  to  be 
contemptible  since  Sebastian  spent  his  energies  there. 

"You  would  never  have  thought  of  doing  it  if  I  had 
not  made  this  one  mistake  of  overtrading.  Give  me 
another  chance,  mater,  don't — "  he  turned  his  back 
so  that  she  should  not  see  his  eyes  —  "don't  desert  a 
fellow." 

She  was  greatly  moved,  the  boy  held  the  ultimate 
core  of  her  heart,  and  it  would  never  be  different . 
What  Joe  offered  her,  tempted  her  with,  left  this  un- 
touched. If  Sebastian  had  stopped  then,  had  said  no 
more,  she  would  then  and  there  have  promised  anything 
he  asked,  given  up  the  kingdom  into  which  she  had 
glanced ;  it  was  still  dim,  and  Joe's  figure  too  large. 

But  now  he  began  to  speak  again,  of  Pleasey,  and  of  a 
new  hope  that  had  come  to  him. 

"Mater,  she  is  so  young,  in  some  ways.  I  want  you 
to  be  with  her.  If  it  should  happen  to  be  a  boy " 


378  SEBASTIAN 

She  was  incredulous,  startled,  irrationally  angered. 
The  words  she  had  spoken  crowded  back  upon  her,  more 
bitter  now  in  their  staleness.  Perhaps  Stella  was  right, 
all  of  them  had  been  right,  and  she  was  unwomanly. 
It  seemed  an  outrage  that  Pleasey  should  be  the  mother 
of  Sebastian's  son.  No  feeling  stirred  in  her  but  anger. 
Yet  she  knew  he  was  standing  there,  waiting  for  sym- 
pathy, expectant.  Must  she  fail  him?  She  made  a 
strong  effort,  an  effort  that  robbed  her  of  eloquence,  and 
she  said,  f alteringly  : 

"That  is  great  news.     Is  it  certain ?" 

"Great,  isn't  it?  We've  always  been  pretty  intimate, 
more  than  most  mother  and  sons,  but  this  will  make  a 
difference " 

"You  will  want  me  less?" 

"I  shall  understand  you  better.  I  know,  even  now, 
more  of  how  I  must  have  disappointed  you  than  I  ever 
did  before.  Already  I  want  him  to  be  something  out 
of  the  way.  I  wish  I  could  wipe  out  that  bad  time  of 
mine.  The  pater  would  never  have  done  the  things  I 
did.  I  wish  he  could  think  of  me  as  I  think  of  the  pater." 

"You  have  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  yourself. 
I  have  had  a  better  son  than  I  deserved." 

"You  will  like  having  a  grandson?" 

A  hundred  conflicting  feelings  took  her  conscience  for 
battle-ground,  and  fought  silently.  She  saw  she  was 
disappointing  him. 

"You  are  glad  about  it,  aren't  you?" 

"I  think  it  is  what  your  Aunt  Stella  says  sometimes 
—  I  am  not  soft  enough,  feminine  enough.  I  ought  to 
be  glad  —  but  you  are  so  young  —  it  is  another  respon- 


SEBASTIAN  379 

sibility  for  you."  She  was  floundering  in  words,  and 
words  were  always  so  much  to  Vanessa. 

"I  like  responsibility.  And  you  will  help  us,  won't 
you?  Pleasey  is  frightfully  excited  about  it." 

She  tried  to  tell  him  of  her  unkindness  to  his  wife, 
but  of  that  Sebastian  was  incredulous. 

"Pleasey  would  have  told  me  if  she  had  thought  any- 
thing of  it.  But  she  never  said  a  word,  she  doesn't 
know  how  to  bear  malice.  I  daresay  you  have  felt  it, 
she  and  me,  you  know,  a  sort  of  jealousy !  But  it  will 
be  different  now.  Mater,  of  course,  we  must  call  him 
David  - 

"Or  after  your  grandfather " 

"Well,  you  see  I  never  knew  him.  But  about  Walling- 
ford.  This  makes  it  impossible,  doesn't  it?  That  is 
why  I  told  you  to-night,  although  Pleasey  wanted  it 
kept  a  secret.  You  will  see  her  through,  won't  you  ? 
If  I  can  get  the  money  part  right,  you  won't  leave  us  ?  " 

"No." 

He  went  on  talking  for  some  time.  She  answered 
him  mechanically,  the  future  had  become  darkened  to 
her,  and  she  must  grope  her  way.  He  stood  between 
her  and  her  kingdom.  But  perhaps  he  was  right,  and 
Stella  was  right,  and  it  was  not  her  kingdom  at  all,  but 
one  set  apart  for  other  women,  who  had  no  gift  of  ex- 
pression save  this.  They  could  express  themselves  in 
loving  speeches  and  caresses.  For  her  there  was  the 
pen.  But  to-night  it  seemed  a  dreary  road  she  traversed, 
and  even  her  boy  was  indistinct. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IT  was  agreed  that  Sebastian  should  tell  Joe  Walling- 
ford  he  could  not  spare  his  mother.  If  it  cost  him  the 
order  for  the  "  feather- weight,"  dried  up  the  source  of 
that  river  of  capital,  the  boy  was  prepared  to  face  it. 
He  was  rather  worried  when  the  morning  came,  because 
he  had  no  letter  from  his  wife,  but  he  had  no  doubt  any 
longer  of  his  capacity  to  meet  the  situation  in  Queen 
Victoria  Street.  The  pendulum  had  swung  out  again, 
again  optimism  was  the  note.  He  had  not  forgotten  his 
plans;  the  figures,  and  notes  the  accountant  had  pre- 
pared. 

"We  will  put  this  house  in  the  agents'  hands,  and  let 
it  furnished,  just  as  it  is." 

She  was  quite  as  ready  as  he  to  do  whatever  was  neces- 
sary, or  advisable,  but  more  ignorant  as  to  how  to  pro- 
ceed. They  had  carriages,  and  horses,  motors,  and  men ; 
it  was  difficult  to  rid  herself  quickly  of  her  large  establish- 
ment. She  offered  to  send  the  curios  to  Christie's,  to 
abandon  china,  prints,  ivories,  miniatures.  She  had 
no  fear  of  what  the  world  might  say,  and  a  passionate 
desire  to  get  everything  settled,  to  find  herself  again. 
It  was  he  who  understood  that  they  must  not  manage 
affairs  in  this  way,  that  they  had  more  at  stake  than  the 
few  hundreds,  or  few  thousands,  such  a  sale  might  bring. 

"You  must  not  do  that,  you  must  not  make  any 

380 


SEBASTIAN  381 

move  that  cannot  be  easily  explained.  To  dismiss 
some  of  the  servants,  and  let  the  house  furnished,  is 
quite  enough  to  begin  with.  We  don't  want  to  set  the 
City  talking,  and  have  Kendalls  in  every  one's  mouth. 
We  will  have  to  keep  the  motor  anyhow,  you  can't  live 
in  the  country  without  a  motor.  You  are  not  going  to 
be  a  pauper,  only  to  live  on  a  smaller  income  for  a  year 
or  two.  You  mustn't  part  with  anything  you  care  for, 
only  just  be  without  them  for  a  bit.  I  wish  Pleasey  had 
written,  I  am  afraid  she  is  seedy.  I  shall  run  down  my- 
self if  I  don't  hear  by  to-night.  I  wish  now  you  or  Bice 
had  gone  with  her.  ..." 

Vanessa  offered,  a  little  half-heartedly,  to  journey  to 
Eastbourne.  If  only  she  had  not  been  so  outspoken 
that  evening ! 

"I  am  sure  she  isn't  ill,"  she  said.  "The  Alstons' 
dance  knocked  her  up,  perhaps,  and  those  few 
words " 

"  Oh !  that  is  simply  nonsense.  Pleasey  would  not 
take  anything  you  said  badly,  after  all  you've  done. 
No,  it  is  not  that.  I  think  I'll  wire." 

Vanessa  undertook  the  wire,  and  to  telephone  the  reply 
to  him  to  the  City.  She  did  not  want  to  hear  him  talk 
of  Pleasey,  would  rather  he  had  spoken  of  Joe ;  she  was 
interested  as  to  what  Joe  Wallingford's  attitude  would 
be  when  Sebastian  told  him  he  would  not  hear  of  her 
remarriage. 

She  need  not  have  been  anxious,  Sebastian's  decision 
would  not  affect  Wallingford's,  but  that,  of  course,  she 
only  learnt  later. 

Joe  came  to  the  office  in  Queen  Victoria  Street  soon 


382  SEBASTIAN 

after  Sebastian  arrived  there.  He  saw  no  sign  of  dif- 
ficulties, or  lack  of  money.  Sebastian,  ostentatiously 
busy,  perhaps  a  little  dramatic,  but  that  was  instinct 
with  him,  was  giving  and  taking  orders  through  the 
telephone,  dictating  letters;  an  array  of  clerks  waited 
instructions  and  signatures,  the  whole  place  was  shiny 
with  polished  mahogany  and  brass,  on  the  surface  every- 
thing reflected  prosperity. 

It  was  not  in  the  boy  to  avoid  posing  to  Joe,  the  older 
man  could  smile  on  it,  since  he  did  not  know  all  that  the 
pose  concealed. 

"Awfully  good  of  you  to  come;  get  a  chair  for  Mr. 
Wallingford,  Haines.  You'll  excuse  me,  won't  you,  if 
I  just  finish  off  these  letters,  and  set  them  all  going? 
Everything  is  on  my  shoulders,  we  don't  do  a  small 
trade  here.  Ever  seen  the  telewriter  at  work?  There 
it  is,  in  the  corner,  this  is  my  private  instrument." 

The  machinisation  of  the  business  was  really  admir- 
able, but  a  scrap  of  conversation,  here  and  there,  enlight- 
ened Joe,  if  he  had  needed  enlightenment,  as  to  the 
underlying  weakness.  "Who?  Draper.  Oh,  yes.  Sell 
it  him  at  cost,  we  must  get  in  there  at  any  price." 

"Jones  and  Taylor.  Tell  them  we'll  hold  it  for  them, 
they  can  call  it  up  when  they  want  it.  Plenty  of  room 
at  the  mills." 

As  far  as  it  went,  the  boy  was  quite  candid  to  Joe, 
after  the  clerks  had  left  the  room,  when  they  were  alone. 

"  I  hate  any  one  else  to  get  an  order.  I  would  rather 
a  thousand  times  give  them  the  stuff,  than  hear  of  them 
going  elsewhere,  once  we  have  got  a  foot  in  with  a  good 
firm.  If  I  had  enough  capital  at  my  back,  I  would 


SEBASTIAN  383 

undersell  the  whole  market.  And  from  mill  wrapping 
to  best  hand-made,  I  would  sell  at  cost.  Wouldn't  the 
trade  hum  with  me,  you  bet  ?  " 

"If  you  are  really  convinced  that  would  be  a  wise 
plan,  I  don't  think  there  need  be  any  difficulty  about 
capital,"  the  other  answered,  quietly,  meaningly. 

That  brought  Sebastian  up  rather  sharply,  and  he 
flushed. 

"Oh!  I  say,  that  reminds  me "  he  began,  but 

was  interrupted  by  the  buzz  of  the  instrument  on  the 
table,  "excuse  me  a  minute." 

"That  you,  Bob?  Mr.  Hayling  out  of  town?  What 
a  bore !  Where's  he  gone  ?  Got  a  woman  with  him ! 
Good  for  him.  I  wanted  to  speak  to  him  about  these 

bills.  What  the  devil  did  he  mean You!  No 

thanks.  I'll  wait  until  Bob  is  through  with  his  spree. 
So  long."  He  hung  up  the  telephone. 

"You  can't  play  the  prude  in  the  City,"  he  explained, 
apologetically,  "there  is  no  real  harm  in  Bob,  though  he 
likes  to  pose  as  Don  Juan.  It  is  really  about  that  stuff 
you  said  you'd  take  that  I  want  to  see  him."  He  was 
uncomfortable,  and  a  little  embarrassed.  "I  believe 
you  didn't  really  need  it,  you  only  wanted  to  do  me  a 
turn.  It  won't  do,  you  know.  There  is  no  such  thing 
as  friendship  in  business.  The  mater  made  a  mistake, 
we  talked  it  out  last  night " 

"Oh!  you  talked  it  out  last  night?"  Joe  sat  quiet 
for  a  minute ;  he  was  vexed,  if  not  overwhelmed.  This 
might  mean  delay,  although  nothing  would  alter  his 
determination.  But  he  would  rather  have  had  the  boy 
with  him,  than  against  him;  he  had,  perhaps,  misun- 
derstood him,  he  did  not  want  to  make  another  mistake. 


384  SEBASTIAN 

"She  doesn't  want  to  do  it,"  Sebastian  went  on,  em- 
phatic, though  obscure.  "It  was  only  me  she  was 
thinking  of,  and  Kendalls.  I  am  short  of  cash,  I'll  go 
as  far  as  that,  I'll  admit  that,  but  nothing  serious,  noth- 
ing I  can't  get  out  of " 

"I  never  thought  there  was.  I  never  doubted  but 
that  you  were  solvent." 

"So  you  see " 

"I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  refuse  a  good  order." 

"You  mean " 

"I  mean  I  am  going  to  print  the  autumn  number  on 
the  'feather-weight.'  Don't  mix  up  one  thing  with 
another.  Now  this  limited  partnership,  this  twenty- 
five  thousand  pounds?" 

"That  is  out  of  the  question,"  he  answered,  shortly. 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  want  it." 

"Don't  want  to  lay  yourself  under  an  obligation  to 
me?" 

"Something  like  that." 

"You  think  I'd  use  the  position  to  force  your  mother's 
hand?" 

"Not  exactly  that." 

"Then  exactly  what?" 

Sebastian's  discomfort  passed  away.  After  all,  he 
had  always  liked  the  fellow,  and  the  mater  was  not 
going  to  marry  him.  Sebastian  grew  his  natural  ego- 
tistic self  under  Joe's  influence.  He  told  him  he  was 
not  afraid  any  longer  of  his  "getting  at"  the  mater,  but 
he  liked  to  be  on  his  own ;  Kendalls  was  Kendalls,  he  did 
not  want  a  partner  in  it. 


SEBASTIAN  385 

"You  are  fighting  against  odds,  when  you  might  have 
the  odds  on  your  side;  going  into  battle  without  am- 
munition, when  the  arsenal  is  stocked." 

"You  can  pay  too  dear  for  ammunition.  I  have 
found  that  out  already,"  he  answered,  ingenuously. 
He  did  not  want  to  talk  any  more  about  "obligation," 
least  of  all  did  he  want  to  talk  about  his  mother.  He 
wished  Joe  would  stick  to  business;  to  further  his 
wishes,  he  sent  for  the  order  clerk. 

Joe  saw  samples  of  his  purchase,  and  was  satisfied  as 
to  its  maturing.  He  was  also  shown  the  "heavily 
coated  chromo,"  the  imitation  "art,"  produced  by 
water  finish,  and  the  "highly  glazed  super-calendered." 
Sebastian  was  proud  of  his  extensive  stock,  and  he  did 
not  get  a  customer  like  Joe  Wallingford  every  day  in 
Queen  Victoria  Street.  He  kept  him  talking,  plying 
him  ably.  At  last  Joe  rose  to  go.  This  was  when  the 
telephone  rang  again : 

"Wait  a  second,"  said  Sebastian;  "I  want  to  show 

you Yes,  yes,  I'm  there,  hurry  up,  we're  Kendalls. 

Who  are  you  ?  Oh  !  Good  God !  not  Bob,  not  Bob ! 
What!  Where " 

He  stood  at  the  telephone,  irresolutely,  and  with 
blanching  cheeks. 

"It  is  my  friend  Hayling,  Bob  Hayling.  They  have 
just  heard  he  has  had  a  motor  smash,  they  say,  they 
say " 

Clerk,  Joe,  office  routine,  notwithstanding,  Sebastian's 
eyes  filled.  "I  must  go  round;  he  was  such  a  good 
fellow,  I  can't  believe  it  is  hopeless." 

But  again  the  instrument  was  alive. 

2o 


386  SEBASTIAN 

"You  answer  it,  Haines,  I  am  done  for  the  minute. 
They  say,  they  say  it  is  ...  all  over  with  him !"  His 
eyes  asked  for  sympathy,  and  his  voice  was  husky. 

"I'll  get  my  hat,"  he  said  to  Joe;  "I  daresay  I  seem 

an  awful  ass  to  you,  but  Bob  and  I,  old  Bob "  He 

was  not  ashamed  to  show  his  emotion.  They  had  told 
him  that  Bob  was  hopelessly  injured,  and  Bob  had  been 
his  friend. 

The  clerk,  secretly  unsympathetic,  for  Hayling's  firm 
had  done  them  some  nasty  turns,  held  the  receiver : 

"It's  Mrs.  Kendall,  sir,  your  mother.  She  says  she 
would  like  to  speak  to  you  herself,  she  says  it's  very 
important." 

Sebastian  made  an  effort,  and  recovered  himself.  He 
took  the  receiver  again : 

"That  you,  mater?  Like  me  to  come  home  at  once? 
Me !  Why  !  what's  the  matter,  you're  not  ill,  are  you  ? 
Blast  it,  they've  cut  us  off.  Are  you  there?  Are  you 
there  ?  Are  you  there  ?  " 

The  thing  buzzed,  but  nothing  came  through. 

Joe  said : 

"If  she  said  she  would  like  you  to  come  straight  home, 
what  is  the  use  of  trying  to  get  on,  it  only  means  delay, 
and  more  delay.  We  can  get  to  Harley  Street  in  fifteen 
minutes,  if  the  roads  are  fairly  clear." 

Sebastian  did  not  resent  the  "we,"  he  was  quite  weak 
for  the  moment,  full  of  apprehension. 

"They  will  put  us  on  again  in  a  minute,"  he  answered, 
uncertainly. 

"  It  won't  alter  the  fact  she  asked  you  to  come  straight 
home." 


SEBASTIAN  387 

The  men's  eyes  met.  It  is  possible,  in  that  moment, 
Sebastian  forgot  he  had  opposed  his  mother's  remarriage. 

Joe  hurried  him  into  the  car,  gave  his  instructions. 

"Perhaps  it  is  Aunt  Stella?" 

"I  hope  so,"  Joe  said,  fervently.  But  he  did  not 
mean  it,  he  did  not  know  what  he  hoped,  or  feared,  as 
they  crawled  through  Cheapside,  dashed  along  a  side 
street,  got  held  up  in  Holborn,  and  yet  reached  Harley 
Street  within  twenty  minutes  of  that  hasty  summons. 

Joe  made  no  pretence  of  letting  Sebastian  go  into  the 
house  alone.  Sebastian  was  seized  with  a  horrible  fear, 
he  was  glad  not  to  be  alone.  He  had  said  half  a  dozen 
times,  "The  mater  must  be  all  right,"  he  could  swear  it 
was  her  own  voice  he  had  heard.  And  yet  he  was  white 
with  fear,  sick  with  fear. 

Vanessa  met  them  both  in  the  hall ;  she,  too,  was  glad 
of  Joe's  presence.  That  it  was  no  light  matter  he  saw 
in  her  eyes,  and  in  the  white  set  of  her  lips.  And  yet,  it 
was  rather  rage  than  grief,  it  was  a  whole  tempest  of 
feeling  he  read  there.  It  was  shipwreck  and  death  to 
Sebastian ;  and  Sebastian  was  the  innermost  core  of  her 
heart. 

Of  course  there  leapt  from  her  to  him,  intuition,  a 
flash  of  certainty.  He  held  out  his  hands  as  to  if  ward 
it  off: 

"I  can't  bear  it,"  he  said,  "mater,  I  can't  bear  it,  it 
—  it  is  Pleasey." 

For  half  a  second  the  hall  went  dark  before  his  eyes, 
reeled  about  him. 

"Be  a  man,"  Joe  said.    Joe  kept  him  from  falling. 

"Bring  him  in  here."  The  dining-room  was  quite 
near.  Sebastian  found  it  was  steadier  than  the  hall. 


388  SEBASTIAN 

"  Go  on,  drink  it  up."  Joe  made  him  swallow  a  liqueur 
glass  of  brandy,  and  that  brought  his  colour  back,  and 
his  full  consciousness  with  it.  Joe  stood  by  his  chair, 
Vanessa  behind  it ;  she  did  not  know  how  to  tell  him  her 
news. 

"I'm  better  now,"  he  said,  "go  on.  What  has  hap- 
pened to  her?  Don't  keep  me  in  suspense.  What 
have  you  heard?" 

"They  must  have  been  on  the  way  to  Folkestone," 
she  hesitated. 

"They!" 

"Mr.  Hayling  was  with  her." 

"Hayling?"  He  needed  Joe's  support,  the  dining- 
room  was  darker  than  the  hall,  and  the  beastly  place 
swayed.  He  was  very  glad  of  Joe's  arm. 

Vanessa  went  on,  she  had  to  break  it  to  him : 

"They  were  motoring  together,  had  been  together  all 
the  time.  There  was  a  bad  accident.  Mr.  Hayling 
was  practically  killed  on  the  spot.  It  is  in  the  papers 
already,  that  is  why  I  asked  you  to  come  straight 
home." 

"Pleasey?"  His  eyes  implored  her,  he  must  have 
reassurance. 

It  was  cruel  of  her  to  blurt  out : 

"What  does  it  matter?" 

Cruel,  it  was  cruel  of  her,  and  yet  she  could  not  help  it. 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  dress. 

"You  didn't  mean  that,  mater."  His  senses  were 
coming  back  to  him,  and  his  manhood.  "You  don't 
know  what  you  are  saying.  Why  shouldn't  they  have 
been  together?  You  dare  not  think ' 


SEBASTIAN  389 

She  knelt  down  by  him,  she  could  not  bear  to  see  his 
face,  to  add  to  what  was  written  there. 

"  I  don't  think,  I  won't  think.  My  son,  my  son,  teach 
me  to  help  you.  What  must  we  do  ?" 

"  I  must  get  to  her  as  quickly  as  possible.  Let  me  see 
the  paper,  have  you  had  a  telegram?  Wallingford  will 
lend  us  his  car.  I  don't  know  what  came  over  me,  what 
you  have  got  hold  of.  Read  it  out." 

She  read  it  out,  the  brief  newspaper  account,  shouted 
in  the  streets,  justifying  the  early  second  edition.  She 
heard  them  shouting  even  before  the  telegram  had  come 
for  Sebastian,  never  connecting  it  with  herself,  never 
dreaming  it  was  the  knell  of  his  happiness. 

"Fatal  motor  accident.  London  gentleman  killed 
on  the  spot.  Chauffeur  unconscious.  Lady  dragged 
from  under  car." 

But  she  had  more  direct  news  than  that.  Pleasey 
had  been  taken  to  the  Cottage  Hospital,  at  Rye.  She 
had  been  able  to  give  her  name  and  address,  and  the 
authorities  had  telegraphed  to  her  husband,  never  heed- 
ing who  she  was  with,  nor  why.  And  Vanessa  had  been 
on  the  telephone  to  them  since  she  sent  for  Sebastian. 

Vanessa  had  no  pity  for  Pleasey,  although  she  heard 
the  shock  had  been  severe,  and  that  her  courage  had  been 
great ;  nothing  but  indignation,  too  deep  for  words,  and 
a  great  horror.  Those  hopes,  those  hopes  that  now 
would  know  no  fruition ;  were  they,  too,  part  of  the  dis- 
simulation that  had  been  practised  on  her  son  ?  There 
was  no  room  for  pity,  and  now,  at  last,  she  was  glad  she 
had  uttered  those  bitter  words,  even  if  they  had  pre- 
cipitated the  catastrophe. 


390  SEBASTIAN 

But  Sebastian  would  not  listen,  nor  understand.  The 
mere  physical  shock  of  the  news  of  the  accident  had 
shaken  him,  but  he  recovered  quickly.  He  thrust  right 
into  the  background  anything  surprising,  or  unexpected, 
in  his  wife  having  been  motoring  with  Bob.  They  might 
have  met  at  Eastbourne,  why  should  she  not  drive  with 
him  to  Folkestone  ?  A  hundred  coincidences  might  have 
brought  about  their  meeting.  Once  his  brain  had 
cleared,  his  loyalty  stood  firm,  no  shock  could  under- 
mine that. 

The  accident  had  taken  place  between  Winchelsea 
and  Rye;  he  knew  the  place  well.  His  head  might  still 
be  swimming,  and  his  legs  unsteady,  but  what  he  wanted 
was  an  A  B  C. 

"Will  it  be  any  quicker  if  I  motor  you  down?"  Joe 
said. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  going?"  she  asked. 

The  boy's  pallor  now  was  indignant. 

"The  mater  has  got  something  in  her  head " 

Joe's  eyes  met  Vanessa;  they  said  as  clearly  as  if  they 
had  been  lips : 

"This  is  not  the  moment  .  .  .  leave  him  alone.  Let 
it  come  to  him  gradually,  if  it  must  come." 

And  for  once  Vanessa  obeyed.  She  busied  herself  in 
getting  wraps  together,  having  a  flask  filled.  None  of 
them  wanted  to  think;  action  is  the  only  relief  in  such  a 
crisis. 

Bice,  too,  had  seen  the  papers;  now  they  heard  her 
voice  in  the  hall.  And  she  was  as  staunch  as  Sebastian, 
although  she  knew  Bob  Hayling  differently.  She,  too, 
wanted  to  go  to  Pleasey,  was  proud  and  touched  that 


SEBASTIAN  391 

Sebastian  asked  it  of  her.  Her  mother  was  better  this 
morning,  well  enough  to  be  left ;  Aunt  Vanessa  could  go 
round  to  her.  Bice  was  as  practical  as  Vanessa.  It  was 
quickly  decided  that  train  was  easier,  and  more  certain 
than  motor.  Mr.  Wallingford  would  take  them  to  Vic- 
toria; they  had  to  hurry  to  catch  the  12.14. 

It  was  so  completely  taken  out  of  Vanessa's  hands  that 
she  could  only  move  in  one  direction,  ignore  as  they  ig- 
nored, treat  the  accident  as  the  beginning  and  end,  what 
led  to  it  of  no  moment.  Again  and  again  Sebastian 
made  her  repeat  that  Pleasey  was  not  dangerously  hurt, 
that  the  hospital  people  who  telephoned  had  con- 
firmed the  telegram. 

"Mr.  Hayling  killed.  Chauffeur's  injuries  severe. 
Mrs.  Kendall  suffering  shock."  And  this  had  been  am- 
plified verbally,  but  not  altered. 

"She  is  not  seriously  hurt,"  Vanessa  repeated,  "she 
has  not  broken  anything,  and  is  quite  conscious." 

She  could  not  say  more.  She  was  overwhelmed  at 
Sebastian's  attitude.  It  was  a  relief  when  Joe  had 
driven  off  with  him  and  Bice.  At  the  last  moment, 
Sebastian  called  to  her  to  have  everything  in  readiness, 
he  shouted,  "I  shall  try  to  get  her  back  here  as  quickly 
as  possible.  Ask  Gifford  to  keep  on  the  qui  vive." 

It  was  a  relief  to  be  left  alone,  not  to  have  to  feign 
interest  in  Pleasey's  state. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

VANESSA  did  not  hear  for  some  days  that  Pleasey's 
injuries  were  of  a  more  serious  nature  than  had  been  at 
first  diagnosed,  not  in  fact  until  the  invalid  was  in- 
stalled in  those  upstairs  rooms,  with  a  nurse  and  Dr. 
Gifford  in  attendance.  If  there  had  been  an  explana- 
tion between  husband  and  wife,  she  was  shut  out  of 
Sebastian's  confidence,  and  heard  nothing  of  it.  That 
the  boy  was  unhappy,  desperately  unhappy,  his  face 
showed,  that  his  unhappiness  was  due  alone  to  his  wife's 
condition  of  health  it  was  impossible  to  believe.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  wanted  to  avoid  a  t&te-b-t&te 
with  his  mother.  In  the  evenings  he  sat  in  his  wife's 
room,  in  the  mornings  he  came  down  late,  and  hurried 
away  to  business. 

People  came  and  went  in  these  strange  days.  The 
Pleyden-Carrs  filled  the  house,  taking  their  meals  there 
as  a  matter  of  course,  asking  for  perpetual  brandies,  or 
whiskies  and  sodas,  "keeping  up  their  strength,"  as  they 
expressed  it,  talking  disconnectedly  of  their  troubles, 
dilating  on  Pleasey's  beauty  and  virtue,  for  ever  explain- 
ing, and  explaining,  that  to  which  there  was  but  one  ex- 
planation. And  they  were  doing  it  all  so  blunderingly, 
so  badly !  "  Mr.  Hayling  and  Pleasey  had  been  prac- 
tically brought  up  together,"  was  their  unnecessary  story. 
They  told  lying,  easily  refuted  anecdotes  to  prove  the 

392 


SEBASTIAN  393 

fraternal  nature  of  the  regard  that  existed  between  them. 
They  made  vague,  unintentional  admissions  of  an  in- 
timacy that  had  warranted  presents  of  jewellery,  of 
clothes.  They  talked  of  Mr.  Hayling's  generosity  to 
Ambrose  Pleyden-Carr,  and  of  the  great  loss  he  would 
be  to  them.  Their  wandering,  unsteady  eyes  for  ever 
questioned  Vanessa,  for  ever  answered  the  doubts  she 
might  be  disposed  to  have,  for  ever  attempted  to  obtain 
some  assurances  that  they,  at  least,  should  not  lose  if 
Pleasey  had  made  a  mistake ! 

It  came  to  that  before  the  inquest  on  Robert  Hayling 
was  held,  "if  Pleasey  had  made  a  mistake!"  The  posi- 
tion was  so  inexplicable,  they  were  so  desperately  fright- 
ened of  having  their  daughter  again  on  their  hands. 
They  feared  lest  her  fine  position,  and  the  benefits  that 
incidentally  accrued  to  them  therefrom  should  be  lost 
beyond  recall.  They  could  not  rest  away  from  Harley 
Street.  Often  they  brought  with  them  the  idiot  girl  in 
the  three-cornered  hat;  she  was  horribly  like  Pleasey, 
making  effort  to  attract  attention  from  Sebastian,  or 
from  Dr.  Gifford,  or  from  any  one  who  came  to  the  house, 
unhappy  in  the  manner  of  her  infirmity. 

Vanessa  tried  again  and  again  to  get  speech  with  Se- 
bastian, but  something  had  for  the  moment  stifled  their 
intimacy.  She  wanted  to  cry  to  him:  "If  I  was  harsh 
that  morning,  have  I  not  been  justified?"  But  he  gave 
her  no  opening.  Bice,  too,  who  came  in  and  out,  for 
whom  Pleasey  asked  continuously,  had  no  reassurance 
for  Vanessa;  all  her  loyalty  was  up  in  arms  for  Pleasey, 
and  all  her  sympathy  was  for  Sebastian.  Here,  in  her 
own  house,  Vanessa  felt  an  intruder,  or  that  they  were 


394  SEBASTIAN 

all  intruders.  It  was  grotesque  and  impossible;  the 
presence  of  the  Pleyden-Carrs,  Sebastian's  reticence,  his 
unhappy  face,  younger,  not  older,  in  its  misery,  but 
shutting  her  out  of  his  confidence.  She  knew  how  it 
was,  of  course.  Whether  pleading  for  herself,  or  in  ex- 
tenuation, his  erring  wife  would  have  repeated  to  Se- 
bastian some  of  the  phrases  that,  she  must  have  alleged, 
had  driven  her  forth !  And  he  was  aching  to  hear  ex- 
tenuation, to  be  deceived,  to  believe  anything  that  could 
exonerate  her. 

"She  was  driven  to  it,"  he  said,  in  one  moment  of 
revealing  agony;  "if  she  did  anything  that  she  should 
not,  she  was  driven  to  it.  You  told  her  she  was  drag- 
ging me  down,  useless  and  unwelcome  here,  that  she  had 
ruined  me  by  her  extravagances — "  And  then  he  had 
got  away.  For  his  love  of  his  mother  warred  with  his 
love  for  his  wife,  and,  painfully  throbbing  in  his  open 
wound,  was  an  incredulous  horror  of  unbelief  that  he 
had  been  so  mistreated  by  the  girl  to  whom  he  had  given 
his  love,  and  the  name  that  had  never  been  tarnished. 

Joe  Wallingford  was  invaluable  to  him  at  this  juncture. 
Joe  kept  out  of  Vanessa's  way,  this  was  not  his  moment. 
But  he  saw  that  the  Kendalls  were  properly  represented 
at  the  inquest  on  Robert  Hayling,  and,  in  truth,  that 
they  had  been  well  served  beforehand. 

The  Pleyden-Carrs,  Vanessa,  Sebastian  himself,  could 
hardly  breathe  until  it  was  over,  until  they  knew  what 
must  be  said,  and  what  might  be  reported.  And  in  the 
end  there  was  nothing  to  hurt  them.  The  accident  was 
gone  into,  the  steep  hill  outside  Hastings,  the  climb 
towards  Winchelsea,  the  flock  of  sheep  that  caused  the 


SEBASTIAN  395 

swerve,  the  quick  descent,  the  impetus  that  flung  Mr. 
Hayling  from  his  seat;  everything  was  described  in 
detail.  The  chauffeur  had  recovered;  his  injuries  had 
been  greatly  exaggerated.  His  evidence  proved  all  that 
was  necessary;  it  scarcely  transpired  that  there  had 
been  a  party  of  three.  Good  taste,  good  feeling,  charac- 
terised the  reports.  Newspapers  do  these  things  some- 
times, give  up  "  good  copy  "  to  save  a  good  name.  There 
is  free-masonry  among  reporters,  and  among  newspaper 
proprietors.  Joe  had  never  known  his  powers,  nor  used 
them,  as  he  used  them  in  the  Kendall  interest.  It  was 
doubtful  if  Vanessa  knew  what  had  been  done  for  her, 
but  Sebastian  knew. 

And  Joe  was  not  inactive,  either,  in  the  City.  It  got 
about,  quite  mysteriously,  that  Joe  Wallingford  was 
"backing"  Kendalls.  Without  a  shilling  changing 
hands,  nor  any  fresh  capital  introduced,  difficulties 
melted  away.  And  Joe  learnt  to  appreciate  the  boy, 
whilst  he  helped  him  without  touching  his  pride.  It 
was  really  a  big  thing  he  had  been  laying  out,  showing 
invention,  resource,  energy,  the  highest  order  of  business 
ability. 

"When  I  first  offered  you  that  twenty-five  thousand 
pounds,  and  asked  if  you  would  take  me  in,  I  admit  it 
was  for  other  than  business  reasons,"  Joe  said,  bluntly, 
some  weeks  later.  "But,  to-day,  when  I  ask  you  again, 
it  is  only  as  one  business  man  to  another.  I  see  a  great 
future  for  Kendalls,  a  future  in  which  I  should  be  glad 
to  share." 

It  seems  strange,  now,  when  "Kendalls,  Ltd.,"  have 
stood  the  test  of  Stock  Exchange  valuation,  and  stand 


396  SEBASTIAN 

at  four  times  their  par  value,  to  think  that  there  should 
ever  have  been  hesitation  on  one  side,  or  another,  over 
the  amalgamation  that  presently  took  place.  But  this 
belongs  to  the  region  of  history,  rather  than  romance,  and 
Sebastian's  talents  have  received  their  recognition.  For 
the  moment,  he  was  only  glad  that  he  had  to  work  harder 
than  ever,  that  he  could  throw  off  in  Queen  Victoria 
Street  the  troubles  that  lay  in  wait  for  him  at  home. 

He  knew  it  was  with  his  wife  that  Bob  had  played  Don 
Juan  for  the  last  time,  and  he  was  tortured  by  doubts 
and  jealousy.  And  yet  he  could  not  part  with  her,  nor 
condemn  her.  She  was  ill,  she  might  never  be  well  again, 
and  between  her  and  the  world  stood  only  himself.  For 
better  or  worse  he  had  taken  her.  But  it  was  not  that 
alone,  it  was  that  there  was  no  condemnation  of  her  in 
him.  She  was  weak,  and  the  mater  had  been  harsh  to 
her.  His  soul  was  one  white  fire  of  love  for  both  women 
who  had  betrayed  him.  He  had  his  duty  to  both  of 
them.  But  it  was  not  duty  that  paralysed  his  tongue 
when  he  would  tell  Vanessa  she  must  be  hand  in  hand 
with  him  in  helping  his  weak  wife  back  to  her  place,  and 
it  was  not  duty  that  made  him  sit  long,  silent  hours  by 
Pleasey's  difficult  bedside.  It  was  love. 

As  the  weeks  went  by,  and  Pleasey  grew  no  better,  the 
agony  of  jealousy  gave  way  to  an  almost  equally  unbear- 
able pity.  She  had  no  one  but  him,  he  grudged  the 
hours  now,  as  they  stole  her  from  him,  he  remembered 
nothing  but  that  he  had  always  loved  her. 

It  was  Stella  who  advised  Joe  to  wait  no  longer.  The 
time  seemed  ripe,  for  the  position  in  Harley  Street  must 
be  intolerable,  and  the  way  out  doubtful.  Sebastian 


SEBASTIAN  397 

had  set  the  seal  on  his  condonation.  It  was  still  not 
clear  what  injuries  Pleasey  had  sustained.  But  there  she 
was,  installed  in  his  mother's  house,  new  doctors  being 
called  in  consultation,  day  and  night  nurses  engaged  to 
help  her,  everything  that  money  could  do,  or  science 
could  suggest,  surrounding  her  sick  bed. 

"I  cannot  keep  Bice  from  going  to  her,"  Stella  told 
Joe:  "if  Sebastian  is  satisfied,  and  Vanessa  quiescent, 
they  create  a  position  we  are  bound  to  accept." 

Bice  knew  nothing,  suspected  nothing,  it  was  enough 
for  her  that  Pleasey  clung  to  her,  that  Sebastian  said 
she  was  the  only  comfort  he  had. 

No  one  could  doubt  Bice's  devotion  to  Sebastian,  call 
it  by  what  name  they  would  —  cousinly  love  or  sisterly 
love,  or  sweetest  love  of  all,  the  love  that  has  friendship 
for  its  sound  base,  mutual  intimacies  for  its  brickwork, 
and  for  ornamentation,  carven,  imperishable  moments 
of  sympathy  and  tenderness. 

Bice  loved  Sebastian  this  way,  or  the  other.  She 
vowed  herself  passionately  to  his  service,  even  Stella 
went  a  little  short  of  attention  in  those  worst  days  of 
the  illness. 

It  is  possible  that  if  Joe  had  been  able  to  take  im- 
mediate advantage  of  Stella's  suggestion,  if  he  had 
pressed  home  to  Vanessa  the  expediency  of  getting 
away  at  once  from  her  surroundings,  and  the  ease  with 
which  she  could  accomplish  it  by  means  of  a  special 
licence,  and  a  commission  to  him  to  save  her  explana- 
tion or  argument,  he  would  have  achieved  his  desire. 
For  Vanessa  was  nearly  at  the  end  of  her  power  of  for- 
bearance with  all  the  Pleyden-Carrs. 


398  SEBASTIAN 

She  stayed  away  from  the  sick  room,  she  could  not 
find  it  in  her  to  show  sympathy  with  what  lay  there, 
and  she  was  bitterly  wounded  and  distressed  at  the 
estrangement  between  herself  and  her  son.  Self- 
reproach,  the  worst  trouble  of  all,  lay  at  the  bottom 
of  all  her  other  troubles.  Her  feelings  toward  Pleasey 
never  altered,  were  unalterable.  But  seeing,  daily, 
what  parents  she  had  had,  what  upbringing,  and  ex- 
ample, she  could  not  condemn  as  unreservedly  as  she 
would  have  liked.  The  girl  had  had  little  chance  to 
live  a  decent  life  until  her  marriage.  Then,  what  help 
or  incentive  had  Vanessa  given?  She  had  met  her 
with  daily  criticism,  and  harsh  judgment.  It  was 
justified,  it  was  justified,  it  was  justified,  she  said  to 
herself  a  dozen  tunes  a  day,  but  never  proved  it.  At 
the  greatest  time  of  need  in  his  life  she  had  failed  her 
son.  She  knew  it.  And  her  eyes  grew  even  as  Stella's 
eyes,  and  burned  behind  their  lids  with  hot,  continuous 
tears,  unshed,  perhaps,  but  rising,  rising  in  an  ever- 
gathering  tide. 

She  might  have  taken  Joe  Wallingford  had  he  asked 
her  then.  There  seemed  no  light  in  the  horizon,  and 
alone  in  the  cold  and  dark,  one  grasps  at  any  warm 
human  hand.  But  Joe  hesitated.  And  it  was  Sebas- 
tian's hand  she  felt  at  length,  putting  her  face  down 
upon  it,  that  the  tears  might  flow,  and  wash  away  what 
had  been  between  them. 

That  day  yet  another  doctor  had  been  called  to  say 
why  Pleasey  made  no  move  toward  recovery,  what 
vital  nerve  had  been  attacked,  why  her  strength  ebbed, 
and  ebbed,  and  what  would  be  the  end.  And  that 


SEBASTIAN  399 

verdict  brought  Sebastian  to  his  mother  when  the 
house  was  all  quiet,  and  the  Pleyden-Carrs  had  bor- 
rowed their  cab  fare,  and  gone  home  with  it,  when 
dreary  day  was  succeeded  by  dreary  evening,  and 
courage  and  patience  were  at  their  lowest  ebb. 

He  came  to  her,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  come  to  her, 
silent  at  first  of  what  was  nearest  to  him. 

"Business  is  waking  up,"  was  the  way  he  began; 
"they  seem  to  have  begun  to  believe  in  me  again." 

She  was  so  glad  of  his  presence  here ;  she  hardly  dared 
answer  lest  the  wrong  words  came. 

"Money  is  coming  in  every  day.  Joe  Wallingford's 
order  for  the  'feather-weight'  has  practically  cleared 
us." 

"  He  —  he  was  of  use  ?  " 

"Rather"  —  and  then  a  pause.  "Mater,  was  I 
selfish  in  hating  to  see  him  in  the  governor's  place? 
He  is  a  good  fellow,  white  all  through.  If  —  if  you 
feel  you  could  be  happy  with  him  — 

Sebastian  stood  up,  he  was  leaning  against  the  mantel- 
piece, those  sad  young  eyes  of  his  seemed  to  see  more 
clearly  than  they  had  seen  before.  "I  have  filled  up 
your  house,  you  hate  all  the  Pleyden-Carrs.  You  hate 
poor  Pleasey !  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  that. 
This  is  your  house,  and  we  are  both  here  — 

"That  is  not  fair,  it  is  hardly  fair.  You  know,"  she 
did  not  mind  now  if  he  saw  her  hot  eyes,  "it  is  the 
only  comfort  I  have,  that  you  should  be  here,  that  I 
see  you  daily." 

"You  heard  what  the  doctors  said?" 

"Months,  perhaps,  even  years !" 


400  SEBASTIAN 

"Yes!"  There  was  hopelessness  in  his  acquiescence. 
"She  can't  get  well,  it  is  something  to  do  with  her 
spine.  God!"  he  broke  down  for  a  minute,  "how 
ghastly  it  is !  living  death,  the  first  time  she  ever  had 
a  chance  .  .  .  and  you,  you  sit  and  judge  her!" 
"She  had  been  with  him  the  three  days." 
"That  makes  no  difference,  it  makes  it  worse  for 
her.  She  has  lost  Bob,  too.  Who  am  I,  that  I  should 
condemn  her,  or  you?  Nothing  is  as  you  see  it,  you 
criticised  her  all  the  time,  and  it  was  love  she  needed, 
poor  little  girl !  I  ought  never  to  have  brought  her 
here.  In  your  eyes  she  had  a  hundred  little  faults, 
and  those  were  all  you  saw.  But  they  were  so  unim- 
portant to  me.  I  never  thought  I  had  married  a  woman 
like  you,  strong,  self-reliant,  clever.  I  couldn't  have 
done  that.  That  was  the  charm,  she  leaned  on  me. 
Mater,  she  would  have  come  more  and  more  to  lean  on 
me.  She  wouldn't  have  told  me  lies,  she  would  have 
understood  in  time  that  I  loved  her  whatever  she  did. 
If  she  spent  too  much  money,  I  would  have  earned  it 
for  her.  You  don't  know  how  to  care  like  I  do.  You 
said  bitter  things  to  her,  she  was  lonely  and  frightened. 
And  I  was  full  of  Queen  Victoria  Street.  Bob  had 
always  been  kind  to  her.  She  has  told  me  everything. 
She  went  down  to  Eastbourne  by  herself,  she  was 
frightened  to  face  you  again,  after  all  you  said.  She 
knew  suddenly  how  you  felt  about  her.  Poor  girl ! 
And  she  thought  of  me;  she  did  not  want  to  tell  me 
about  you,  and  so  come  between  us.  She  felt  so  lonely, 
she  had  no  one  to  speak  to.  She  wrote  Bob,  and  asked 
him  if  she  had  said  anything  about  me,  about  my 


SEBASTIAN  401 

affairs,  she  had  not  meant  to  harm  me,  and  he  was 
to  promise  her  not  to  use  it.  Mater,  she  was  getting 
to  care  for  me.  It  was  of  me  she  was  thinking,  and 
she  was  always  sweet  to  me,  always.  She  wrote  from 
Eastbourne,  and  Bob  drove  down  to  reassure  her.  He 
was  my  best  friend  —  neither  of  them  meant  to  wrong 
me.  You  have  the  novelist's  imagination;  that  is 
what  has  led  you  away.  And  I  have  got  to  see  too 
much  through  your  eyes.  If  it  had  even  been  true  .  .  . 
what  you  think,  and  if,"  his  voice  sank,  "if,  afterwards 
it  was  God  speaking,  I  —  I  am  silenced.  Bob  was  on 
his  way  to  Paris.  We  had  all  been  the  Folkestone  part 
of  the  journey  together.  It  was  natural  she  should 
want  to  go  over  the  old  ground.  He  had  not  arranged 
to  take  the  car  to  Paris,  she  was  coming  back  to  East- 
bourne in  it.  You  do  believe  this,  don't  you?" 

What  was  she  to  say  to  him?  He,  too,  flung  it  at 
her  that  she  was  a  novelist  first,  and  only  a  woman 
after  that.  Had  she  indeed  wasted  more  than  half 
her  life,  her  heart  divided?  Novelist,  or  mother,  she 
must  speak  now.  Nothing  but  truth  could  clear  the 
clouds  from  between  them,  and  let  them  see  each  other 
face  to  face. 

"And  if  I  cannot  believe  it?"   she  asked. 

The  young  face  was  grey  with  unhappiness,  but  it 
was  set  on  rigid  lines. 

"You  must,"  he  said,  "you  must." 

"It  will  serve  your  purpose  if  I  act  as  if  I  believed  it." 

"God!  how  hard  you  are,  mater.  Sometimes, 
lately,  since  I  have  grown  so  uncertain  of  myself,  so  un- 
happy, I  have  wondered  about  the  pater,  and  you.  .  .  ." 
SB 


402  SEBASTIAN 

"You  think  I  —  I  failed  him  too?" 

"No,  no.  Only  that,  perhaps,  he  missed  it.  I  can- 
not quite  explain  myself.  Loving  any  one  as  I  love 
Pleasey,  teaches  one  such  a  lot.  If  you  have  not  ever 
felt  just  this  love " 

The  speech  that  came  was  not  the  one  she  meant 
to  make: 

"Whatever  I  have  had,  or  missed,  leaves  the  essen- 
tials unchanged,  my  hatred  of  unchastity  - 

"Don't  say  it,  mater,  don't  make  things  irrevocable 
between  us.  You  have  been  good  to  me,  if  it  has 
been  from  duty,  as  I  sometimes  thought,  lately,  or 
from  ambition,  where  I  have  thwarted,  or  disappointed 
you,  it  hasn't  seemed  to  matter  until  now.  But  now, 
if  you  really  care  for  me  — 

It  was  hard,  and  difficult,  after  what  he  had  said. 
For  she  had  loved  him  always,  had  loved  nothing  so 
well,  and  he  was  questioning  it.  She  told  him  that  he 
wronged  her,  with  quivering  lips.  It  did  not  need 
many  words.  Then  he  was  kneeling,  with  his  face  in 
her  lap: 

"  Forgive  me,  I  am  more  unhappy  than  words  can  say." 

She  put  her  lips  a  moment  to  the  black  hair. 

"I  will  help  you.     You  know  I  will  help  you." 

"It  must  make  no  difference,  even,  even  if  it  is  all 
true.  She  —  she's  never  going  to  get  well." 

"But  if  she  does,  if  she  does?" 

"It  would  make  no  difference.  She  belongs  to  me, 
she  gave  herself  to  me.  I  swore  to  cherish  her.  I  — 
I  love  her,  nothing  can  alter  it,  nothing  else  matters." 

"But  years " 


SEBASTIAN  403 

He  got  up  from  his  knees,  the  moment  was  over, 
was  past,  but  they  were  nearer  to  each  other  through  it. 

"You  are  going  to  say  she  may  linger  for  years." 

"Be  a  burden  round  your  neck,  between  you  and 
any  other  marriage,  between  you  and  such  hopes  as 
those  of  which  you  told  me  so  proudly.  Sons,  to  carry 
on  the  name " 

He  burst  out : 

"What  would  you  have  me  do?  My  wife,  she  is 
my  wife,  young,  and  in  such  trouble !  I  pray  to  be 
able  to  help  her.  Do  you  know,  she  calls  out  for  me, 
night  after  night?  The  nurse  wakes  me  then,  for  she 
is  frightened,  terrified  lest  I  turn  against  her.  I  wouldn't 
turn  against  her,  if  —  if  even  I  knew  everything  was  true. 
You  know  I  am  right." 

"All  the  hopes  of  your  youth,  all  the  joys  of  your 

manhood,  your  right  of  life "  It  was  almost  a 

moan. 

"She  sleeps  more  peacefully  when  I  sit  by  her,  she 
calls  for  me  when  she  is  in  her  worst  pain.  Mater," 
and  the  word  was  a  cry,  "I  see  you  criticise  me,  judg- 
ing, condemning  both  of  us.  I  cannot  bear  it."  And 
again  he  came  over  to  her,  sat  down  beside  her,  leant 
his  head  against  her  shoulder. 

"Be  like  other  fellows'  mothers  for  once.  I  am  so 
done,  so  tired,  so  beat."  She  knew  it  was  as  Stella 
had  said,  he  wanted  tenderness,  petting.  And  she 
took  his  hand,  cold,  not  quite  steady,  in  hers,  she  warmed 
it  against  her  face. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  her  judgment  went  with  her 


404  SEBASTIAN 

actions.  She  had  to  keep  the  love  of  her  son.  She 
went  into  the  sick  room  that  very  evening  to  make  her 
peace  with  the  invalid. 

"Here  is  the  mater/'  Sebastian  announced.  "She 
has  been  wanting  to  see  you  these  three  weeks,  but 
the  nurses  make  such  a  fuss  about  keeping  you  quiet." 

It  was  not  so  difficult  as  Vanessa  had  feared.  With- 
out the  paint,  and  without  the  powder,  it  was  a  puny 
face  that  lay  on  the  pillow,  the  blue  eyes  larger  than 
before,  dull  and  pathetic,  it  was  the  face  of  a  poor 
sinner. 

"You  have  not  been  up  to  see  me  before,"  Pleasey 
complained. 

"I  did  not  know  you  would  care  to  have  me,"  Vanessa 
answered,  quietly,  laying  an  uncertain  hand  on  the  pillow. 

"It  is  dull,  lying  here  so  many  hours  alone,"  she 
said,  plaintively. 

She  had  not  grown  more  candid,  she  had  known  quite 
well  why  Vanessa  stayed  away. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come.  It  is  lucky  I  am  not 
disfigured,  isn't  it?"  It  was  not  she  who  had  altered, 
it  was  Vanessa  who  must  grow  pitiful.  "Dr.  Gifford 
said  to-day  even  illness  did  not  make  me  look  like  other 
people."  She  looked  to  Sebastian  for  confirmation, 
and  he  lay  down  beside  her,  and  took  her  in  his  arms, 
murmuring  that  she  was  more  beautiful  than  ever,  and 
dearer.  Vanessa  found  it  hard  to  bear,  any  mother 
would  have  found  it  hard  to  bear.  But  she  won  him, 
she  won  both  of  them. 

Within  a  week,  Pleasey  would  have  no  day  without 
her,  would  be  nursed,  read  to,  comforted  only  by  her 


SEBASTIAN  405 

mother-in-law.  She  clung  to  these  two,  their  strength 
lifting  her  from  where  she  had  sunk.  It  was  not  in  her  to 
be  grateful,  or  really  penitent,  or  ever  frank,  to  face  the 
future,  or  repent  the  past.  She  made  many  poor  ad- 
missions, whenever  pain,  fatigue,  or  fear  prompted  her. 
But  the  truth  was  not  in  her.  And  perhaps  it  was 
best.  For  Sebastian  had  no  wish  to  know  anything  but 
that  his  mother  and  he  were  united  in  their  tendance. 

"Neither  do  I  condemn  thee;  neither  do  I  condemn 
thee!"  How  often  Vanessa  said  it,  and  it  was  never 
true.  She  would  leave  them  together  sometimes,  when 
it  became  unbearable  to  think  Sebastian's  youth  was 
to  be  spent  at  the  feet  of  this  violated  shrine,  this  poor 
stale  idol.  She  had  to  go  through  with  her  struggle  alone. 

But  she  did  not  misunderstand;  she  saw  that  he  was 
growing  all  the  time.  He,  who  had  been  an  egoist, 
now  was  proudest  above  all  things  when  he  alone  could 
soothe  poor  Pleasey  to  sleep.  He,  who  had  been  selfish, 
now  found  happiness  when  she  kept  him  from  work, 
and  from  play,  chaining  him  to  the  close  room.  His 
heart  was  the  heart  of  his  father.  What  dumb  distress 
fell  upon  Vanessa  when  she  knew  that  even  so  had  David 
been  to  her,  had  her  need  been  the  same.  And  yet  she 
could  not  even  bear  with  him  when  he  stumbled,  or 
coughed.  Father  and  son,  she  was  unmeet  for  either  of 
them.  Not  perhaps  as  Pleasey  was  unmeet,  but  yet 
unloving.  It  was  retribution  that  she  suffered.  But 
in  suffering  she,  too,  grew  slowly  wise. 

She  would  stay  with  them  until  the  end,  although  Joe 
urged  his  suit.  He  urged  it  too  late;  for,  now,  neither 
Pleasey  nor  Sebastian  were  willing  to  give  her  up. 


406  SEBASTIAN 

"I  like  to  know  you  are  in  the  house  when  I  am  in 
the  City,  that  if  anything  were  wanted  you  are  on  the 
spot,"  Sebastian  pleaded. 

And  Pleasey,  too,  put  in  her  plaint : 

"Are  you  going  out?  Don't  go  out  when  mother  is 
here,  she  always  wants  something." 

And,  indeed,  even  the  emergency  bottle  of  brandy 
by  the  bedside  was  not  safe  when  Mrs.  Pleyden-Carr's 
emotion  over  her  "dear  daughter"  became  acute  at  sight 
of  the  spirit.  "Don't  let  them  bring  Zuley  up  to  see 
me;  keep  father  downstairs." 

Pleasey  wanted  none  of  her  own  people.  She  did  not 
wish  to  hear  their  troubles,  nor  relieve  them.  She  wanted 
to  bask  in  comforts,  with  no  thoughts  for  the  morrow. 
She  liked  her  lace  and  silk  new  dressing-jackets,  the 
peaches,  and  grapes,  and  flowers  Sebastian  sent  home, 
the  gold-backed  hand-mirror  Vanessa  bought  her  to 
keep  under  her  pillow.  She  was  greedy  of  gauds  that 
ceased  to  deck  her,  food  for  which  she  had  small  appetite, 
attentions  of  which  she  grew  ever  more  exacting. 

Vanessa  saw  all  that.  Bice  and  Sebastian  only  saw, 
and  told  each  other,  how  bravely  Pleasey  bore  her  pain, 
how  little  querulous  she  was,  or  fearful. 

Joe  tried  argument.  He  came  to  Vanessa,  straight 
from  the  House,  the  day  the  Woman's  Suffrage  Bill  had 
been  read  for  the  first  time,  and  the  Government  defeat 
made  a  general  election  imminent. 

"Your  word  was  as  good  as  given  to  me,"  he  said. 
"You  promised  that  if  the  boy  was  satisfied,  you  would 
not  keep  me  waiting  any  longer.  The  boy  said  to  me 
only  to-day:  'If  it  will  make  the  mater  happy,  well, 


SEBASTIAN  407 

that  is  all  I  care  for.  She  is  being  an  angel  to  me,  and 
to  my  poor  girl,  but  I'll  do  without  her,  if  she  wants  to 
go.'" 

"He  said  that!" 

"What  have  you  got  if  you  stay?  She  may  linger  for 
years " 

"Weeks,  Dr.  Gifford  says,  not  even  months.  He 
thinks  none  of  the  consultants  they  have  called  in  have 
taken  into  consideration  her  feeble  physique,  bad  family 
history,  the  rapidity  with  which  one  symptom  follows 
another,  and  never  a  step  gained." 

"Well !  and  then,  and  then?    What  afterwards?" 

"Comforting  him  a  little,  please  God." 

"  But  for  you,  for  yourself  ?  What  are  you  going  to 
get  out  of  it?" 

She  smiled  then.  She  was  content  since  the  old  con- 
fidence was  re-established  between  herself  and  Sebastian, 
happier,  perhaps,  than  she  had  been  since  the  tragedy 
of  his  marriage.  She  was  helping  him  daily,  hourly, 
and  often  he  said  a  grateful,  or  a  tender,  word  to  her, 
a  word  that  touched  her  more  nearly  than  Joe's  love- 
making,  although  that,  too,  was  not  unwelcome. 

"I  am  getting  a  great  deal,  learning  so  many  things 
I  never  knew  before.  I  have  missed  what  you  would 
give  me,  do  not  think  I  underrate  it  any  longer."  She 
could  blush,  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  "You 
have  taught  me  something,  too." 

"Let  me  teach  you  more." 

"No,  no,  no.  I  have  not  really  altered.  Characters 
do  not  alter,  they  only  develop.  I  want  to  write 
what  I  have  learned,  I  shall  write  so  much  better,  you 


408  SEBASTIAN 

know  I  shall  write  better,  it  is  my  mission,  my  only 
strength." 

******* 

She  had  learnt  a  great  deal;  and  further  knowledge 
was  not  spared  her.  The  thin  tallow  candle  of  poor 
Pleasey's  life  spluttered  out,  as  Dr.  Gifford  had  predicted, 
within  a  few  short  weeks.  But  it  was  in  Bice's  arms, 
not  his  mother's,  that  Sebastian  found  his  chiefest  com- 
fort. Both  of  them  cried  for  Pleasey,  they  sobbed  out 
little  stories  of  the  courtship,  and  kissed,  and  cried,  to- 
gether. Vanessa  was  outside  their  reminiscences. 

She  comforted  herself  in  her  isolation: 

"  Who  gives  the  best  account  of  the  feast  ? 
He  who  has  none,  and  enjoyed  it  least — " 

and  started  on  her  masterpiece,  almost  before  the  heavy 
scent  of  the  funeral  flowers  had  faded  from  the  house. 

And  it  proved  her  masterpiece.  She  had  learnt  some- 
thing of  human  nature,  and  that  paradoxes  were  not 
its  expression.  "Earth's  Crammed  Full  of  Heaven"  was 
on  a  different  plane  to  her  other  books,  and  the  critics 
were  able  to  praise  it  unreservedly. 

What  she  found  strange,  overwhelming  even,  was  that 
there  was  some  savour  lacking  even  in  a  literary  success. 
It  was  absurd  to  feel  lonely,  and  isolated  from  life,  when 
a  fourth  edition  was  in  the  press !  But  the  absurdity 
came  to  pass. 

She  had  to  admit  as  much  to  Joe  Wallingford. 

If  he  forced  the  syllogism  home,  in  his  own  direct 
way,  he  at  least  took  care  that  she  never  was  able  to 
completely  controvert  it.  And  the  argument  supplies 
the  salt  of  their  daily  intercourse. 


BY  FRANK  DANBY 

The  Heart  of  a  Child 

BEING  PASSAGES  FROM  THE  EARLY  LIFE 
OF  SALLY  SNAPE,  LADY  KIDDERMINSTER 

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" '  Frank  Danby '  has  found  herself.  It  is  full  of  the  old  wit,  the  old  humor, 
the  old  epigram,  and  the  old  knowledge  of  what  I  may  call  the  Bohemia  of 
London;  but  it  is  also  full  of  a  new  quality,  the  quality  of  imaginative  tender- 
ness and  creative  sympathy.  It  is  delightful  to  watch  the  growth  of  human 
character  either  in  life  or  in  literature,  and  in  'The  Heart  of  a  Child '  one  can 
see  the  brilliancy  of  Frank  Danby  suddenly  burgeoning  into  the  wistfulness  that 
makes  cleverness  soft  and  exquisite  and  delicate.  ...  It  is  a  mixture  of  nat- 
uralism and  romance,  and  one  detects  in  it  the  miraculous  power  ...  of  see- 
ing things  steadily  and  seeing  them  wholly,  with  relentless  humor  and  pitiless 
pathos.  The  book  is  crowded  with  types,  and  they  are  all  etched  in  with 
masterly  fidelity  of  vision  and  sureness  of  touch,  with  feminine  subtlety  as  well 
as  virile  audacity."  —  JAMES  DOUGLAS  in  The  Star,  London. 

" '  The  Heart  of  a  Child '  is,  beyond  question,  Mrs.  Frankan's  best  novel, 
carefully  planned,  vividly  suggestive  of  a  real  world  and  real  character,  touch- 
ing the  human  emotions  without  any  more  extravagance  than  they  contain 
themselves,  and  throwing  a  strong  light  upon  London  and  the  Londoners  of 
to-day.  .  .  . 

"  The  facility  of  phrase  and  the  quickness  of  action,  the  successive  shifting 
of  a  scene  from  one  section  of  London  to  another,  the  varied  contrast  of  char- 
acters and  its  faithful  pictures  of  life  both  high  and  low,  give  to  '  The  Heart  of  a 
Child'  a  picturesque  quality  that  keeps  the  reader  alert  throughout  the  story. 
Mrs.  Frankan's  style  is  full  of  life.  She  compels  us  to  see  the  things  she  de- 
scribes as  she  herself  sees  them,  and  she  furthermore  convinces  us  of  their 
truth.  It  is,  in  short,  the  truth  of  '  The  Heart  of  a  Child '  that  holds  us."  — 
The  Daily  Evening  Transcript,  Boston. 

"The  story  begins  realistically,  and  ends  in  romance,  but  the  romance  is  of 
real  life;  and  through  all  her  drab,  squalid,  perilous  experiences  Sally  carries 
the  frank,  pure  heart  of  a  child,  and  takes  no  harm.  Her  character  is  a  fine 
and  masterly  study,  and  '  it  is  her  character  that  counts,'  as  her  aristocratic 
father-in-law  says  when  he  has  met  her  and  is  reconciled  to  his  son's  marriage. 
'  She  has  a  man's  sense  of  honor,  coupled  with  a  child's  unconsciousness  of 
expediency.'  Every  way  a  remarkable  novel,  and  one  that  confirms  and  in- 
creases our  admiration  for  its  author's  exceptional  gifts."  —  The  Bookman, 
London. 

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The  Gospel  of  Freedom 


"A  novel  that  may  truly  be  called  the  greatest  study  of  social  life,  in  a 
broad  and  very  much  up-to-date  sense,  that  has  ever  been  contributed 
to  American  fiction."  —  Chicago  Inter-  Ocean. 

The  Web  of  Life 

"  It  is  strong  in  that  it  faithfully  depicts  many  phases  of  American  life, 
and  uses  them  to  strengthen  a  web  of  fiction,  which  is  most  artistically 
wrought  out."  —  Buffalo  Express. 

Jock  o*  Dreams,  or  The  Real  World 

"  The  title  of  the  book  has  a  subtle  intention.  It  indicates,  and  is  true 
to  the  verities  in  doing  so,  the  strange  dreamlike  quality  of  life  to  the 
man  who  has  not  yet  fought  his  own  battles,  or  come  into  conscious  pos- 
session of  his  will  —  only  such  battles  bite  into  the  consciousness."  — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

The  Common  Lot 

"  It  grips  the  reader  tremendously.  ...  It  is  the  drama  of  a  human 
soul  the  reader  watches  .  .  .  the  finest  study  of  human  motive  that  has 
appeared  for  many  a  day."  —  The  World  To-day. 

The   Memoirs   of  an   American   Citizen.     Illustrated 

with  about  fifty  drawings  by  F.   B.   Masters. 

"Mr.  Herrick's  book  is  a  book  among  many,  and  he  comes  nearer  to 
reflecting  a  certain  kind  of  recognizable,  contemporaneous  American 
spirit  than  anybody  has  yet  done." — New  York  Times. 
"  Intensely  absorbing  as  a  story,  it  is  also  a  crisp,  vigorous  document  of 
startling  significance.  More  than  any  other  writer  to-day  he  is  giving  us 
the  American  novel."  —  New  York  Globe. 


Together 


"  The  thing  is  straight  from  life.  .  .  .     The  spirit  of  the  book  is  in  the 
end  bracing  and  quickening."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 
"An  able  book,  remarkably  so,  and  one  which  should  find  a  place  in  the 
library  of  any  woman  who  is  not  a  fool."  —  New  York  American. 


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The  Three  Brothers 


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" '  The  Three  Brothers '  seems  to  us  the  best  yet  of  the  long  series  of  these 
remarkable  Dartmoor  tales.  If  Shakespeare  had  written  novels  we  can  think 
that  some  of  his  pages  would  have  been  like  some  of  these.  Here  certainly  is 
language,  turn  of  humor,  philosophical  play,  vigor  of  incident  such  as  might 
have  come  straight  from  Elizabeth's  day.  .  .  .  The  story  has  its  tragedy,  but 
this  is  less  dire,  more  reasonable  than  the  tragedy  is  in  too  many  of  Mr.  Phill- 
potts's  other  tales.  The  book  is  full  of  a  very  moving  interest,  and  it  is  agree- 
able and  beautiful."  —  The  New  York  Sun. 

"  That  Eden  Phillpotts  is  the  greatest  contemporary  English  novelist  since 
Hardy  and  Meredith  have  ceased  writing,  '  The  Three  Brothers '  will  furnish 
proof.  .  .  .  Any  man  who  can  appreciate  a  well-sustained  plot,  abundant 
and  true  action,  superb  character-drawing,  a  crowded  canvas  with  every  figure 
on  it  alive,  standing  out  as  clear  and  real  as  your  own  neighbors,  ought  to 
read  '  The  Three  Brothers.' 

"  It  is  a  great  novel.  It  has  the  vitality  to  outlive  a  thousand  more  popular 
tales,  and  it  is  rich  in  wit  and  humor,  sound  thinking,  fine  feeling,  insight  and 
truth."  —  The  Record-Herald,  Chicago. 


The  Secret  Woman 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "CHILDREN  OF  THE  MIST,"  ETC. 

"Nothing  could  be  more  tenderly  beautiful  than  the  opening  chapter  of 
this,  Mr.  Phillpotts's  strongest  story.  .  .  .  There  cannot  be  two  opinions  as 
to  the  interest  and  the  power  of  'The  Secret  Woman.'  It  is  not  only  its 
author's  masterpiece,  but  it  is  far  in  advance  of  anything  he  has  yet  written  — 
and  that  is  to  give  it  higher  praise  than  almost  any  other  comparison  with 
contemporary  fiction  could  afford."  —  The  Times'  Saturday  Review,  New 
York. 

"  Sombre,  passionate,  intensely  and  poignantly  dramatic,  '  The  Secret 
Woman '  is  by  far  the  finest  novel  that  Mr.  Phillpotts  has  yet  given  us,  and  to 
say  this  is  to  say  a  good  deal.  We  do  not  hesitate  to  declare  that  the  last 
decade  has  produced,  so  far  as  our  knowledge  extends,  only  one  English  novel 
of  equal  power  and  impressiveness."  —  East  Anglian  Times,  London. 


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"  Another  chapter  in  his  broad,  epical  delineation  of  the  American  spirit. 
...  It  is  an  honest  and  fair  story.  ...  It  is  very  interesting ;  and  the 
heroine  is  a  type  of  woman  as  fresh,  original,  and  captivating  as  any  that 
has  appeared  in  American  novels  for  a  long  time  past."  —  The  Outlook, 
New  York. 

"  Shows  Mr.  Churchill  at  his  best.  The  flavor  of  his  humor  is  of  that 
stimulating  kind  which  asserts  itself  just  the  moment,  as  it  were,  after  it  has 
passed  the  palate.  ...  As  for  Victoria,  she  has  that  quality  of  vivid  fresh- 
ness, tenderness,  and  independence  which  makes  so  many  modern 
American  heroines  delightful."  —  The  Times,  London. 

The  Celebrity.     An  Episode 

"  No  such  piece  of  inimitable  comedy  in  a  literary  way  has  appeared  for 
years.  ...  It  is  the  purest,  keenest  fun."  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

Richard  Carvel  Illustrated 

".  .  .  In  breadth  of  canvas,  massing  of  dramatic  effect,  depth  of  feeling,  and 
rare  wholesomeness  of  spirit,  it  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  surpassed  by  an 
American  romance." —  Chicago  Tribune. 

The    Crossing  Illustrated 

" '  The  Crossing '  is  a  thoroughly  interesting  book,  packed  with  exciting 
adventure  and  sentimental  incident,  yet  faithful  to  historical  fact  both  in 
detail  and  in  spirit."  —  The  Dial. 

The   Crisis  Illustrated 

"  It  is  a  charming  love  story,  and  never  loses  its  interest.  .  .  .  The  intense 
political  bitterness,  the  intense  patriotism  of  both  parties,  are  shown  under- 
standingly."  -  Evening  Telegraph,  Philadelphia. 

Coniston  Illustrated 

"  '  Coniston  '  has  a  lighter,  gayer  spirit  and  a  deeper,  tenderer  touch  than 
Mr.  Churchill  has  ever  achieved  before.  .  .  .  It  is  one  of  the  truest  and 
finest  transcripts  of  modern  American  life  thus  far  achieved  in  our  fic- 
tion." —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 


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The  first  novel,  as  distinguished  from  more  or  less  connected  episodes, 
by  these  authors  since  their  charming  "  If  Youth  But  Knew  "  appeared 
some  three  years  ago. 

The  Pride  of  Jennico 

It  is  a  story  of  brisk  adventure  and  eager  love  amid  unaccustomed  scenes; 
and  it  is  told  with  such  freshness  and  sincerity  and  breezy  vigor  of  word 
and  sentiment  as  to  captivate  all  readers,  whether  critical  or  careless. 
"This  lively  story  has  a  half-historic  flavor  which  adds  to  its  interest  .  .  . 
told  with  an  intensity  of  style  which  almost  takes  away  the  breath  of  the 
reader."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

Young  April 

It  is  a  delightful  story  of  a  runaway  month,  when  the  young  Duke,  care- 
fully reared  in  every  punctilio  of  his  position,  escapes  into  an  atmosphere 
of  freedom,  youth,  and  an  April  love,  that  knows  nothing  of  lords.  At 
the  end  it  is  a  very  grave  young  Duke  who  comes  into  his  title,  because 
"noblesse  oblige"  and  yet  one  who  sometimes  wears  with  all  his  quiet 
dignity  a  gently  reminiscent  smile. 

If  Youth  But  Knew 

"One  of  the  most  spirited,  moving,  colorful,  and  fairly  enchanting  novels 
written  in  many  a  day  —  a  book  that  moves  one  to  be  optimistic  of  the 
quality  of  modern  fiction."  —  Republic  (St.  Louis). 


"My  Merry  Rockhurst" 


"  In  the  eight  stories  of  a  courtier  of  King  Charles  Second,  which  are  here 
gathered  together,  the  Castles  are  at  their  best,  reviving  all  the  fragrant 
charm  of  those  books,  like  'The  Pride  of  Jennico,'  in  which  they  first 
showed  an  instinct,  amounting  to  genius,  for  sunny  romances. 
"  It  is  not  the  romance  of  mere  intrigue  and  sword-play  that  the  authors 
make  their  leading  motive.  .  .  .  The  book  is  absorbing,  and  it  is,  into 
the  bargain,  as  spontaneous  in  feeling  as  it  is  artistic  in  execution." — 
New  York  Tribune. 


Flower  of  the  Orange  and 
Other  Tales  of  By-gone  Days 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS,  64-66  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YOKE 


NOVELS,  ETC.,  BY  "BARBARA" 

(MABEL  OSGOOD  WRIGHT) 


Each,  in  decorated  cloth  binding,  $1.50 


The  Garden  of  a  Commuter's  Wife         Illustrated 

"  Reading  it  is  like  having  the  entry  into  a  home  of  the  class  that  is  the 
proudest  product  of  our  land,  a  home  where  love  of  books  and  love  of 
nature  go  hand  in  hand  with  hearty,  simple  love  of  '  folks.'  ...  It  is  a 
charming  book." —  The  Interior. 

People  of  the  Whirlpool  Illustrated 

"  The  whole  book  is  delicious,  with  its  wise  and  kindly  humor,  its  just  per- 
spective of  the  true  values  of  things,  its  clever  pen  pictures  of  people  and 
customs,  and  its  healthy  optimism  for  the  great  world  in  general."  — 
Philadelphia  Evening  Telegraph. 

The  Woman  Errant 

"  The  book  is  worth  reading.  It  will  cause  discussion.  It  is  an  interest- 
ing fictional  presentation  of  an  important  modern  question,  treated  with 
fascinating  feminine  adroitness."  —  Miss  JEANNETTE  GILDER  in  The  Chi- 
cago Tribune. 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Fox 

"  Her  little  pictures  of  country  life  are  fragrant  with  a  genuine  love  of 
nature,  and  there  is  fun  as  genuine  in  her  notes  on  rural  character.  A 
travelling  pieman  is  one  of  her  most  lovable  personages ;  another  is  Tatters, 
a  dog,  who  is  humanly  winsome  and  wise,  and  will  not  soon  be  forgotten 
by  the  reader  of  this  very  entertaining  book."  — New  York  Tribune. 

The  Garden,  You  and  I 

"This  volume  is  simply  the  best  she  has  yet  put  forth,  and  quite  too  deli- 
ciously  torturing  to  the  reviewer,  whose  only  garden  is  in  Spain.  .  .  .  The 
delightful  humor  which  pervaded  the  earlier  books,  and  without  which 
Barbara  would  not  be  Barbara,  has  lost  nothing  of  its  poignancy,  and 
would  make  '  The  Garden,  You  and  I '  pleasant  reading  even  to  the  man 
who  doesn't  know  a  pink  from  a  phlox  or  a  Daphne  cneorum  from  a 
Cherokee  rose."  —  Congregationalist. 

The  Open  Window*      Tales  of  the  Months. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS,   64-66  FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YOEK 


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